1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave

9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum