The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
The best of all things to an end must come