He bent right down to pick up his valise
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
The learning linguist cameramaniac sings
Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
And let you off from your opinions glum
Soliloquies predict great things old chum