Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
The understanding critic firstly sees
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
Th'outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum