1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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