The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
The genealogist with field and fess
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum