The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
His toga rumpled high above his knees
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?