1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown

5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave

9The genealogist with field and fess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum