The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
The understanding critic firstly sees
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
When dried the terrapin can naught express
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum