The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Filching the lolly country thrift helped save
A daring baron pockets precious Mings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum