He bent right down to pick up his valise
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
The Turks said just take anything you please
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
The genealogist with field and fess
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum