1When one with t’other straightaway agrees
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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