The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum