1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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