The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
The best of all things to an end must come