The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
Soliloquies predict great things old chum