1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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