The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
A daring baron pockets precious Mings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum