1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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