1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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