1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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