1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone

5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum