From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
The best of all things to an end must come