1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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