The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
Old Galileo's Pisan offerings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
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
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum