1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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