1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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