1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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