Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
The understanding critic firstly sees
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
Platonic Greece was not so talentless
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Bard I adore your endless monologue
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum