He bent right down to pick up his valise
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
That suede ferments is not at all well known
It's one of many horrid happenings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
With gravity at gravity's great cog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
The best of all things to an end must come