The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
The Turks said just take anything you please
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
The genealogist with field and fess
A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum