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
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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