From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
Th'outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
The genealogist with field and fess
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
The best of all things to an end must come