1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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