The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
With gravity at gravity's great cog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
The best of all things to an end must come