1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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