The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
His toga rumpled high above his knees
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
And let you off from your opinions glum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum