1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14the best of all things to an end must come
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