And he’ll give you altissimo trills in high style,
The fine diatonics which run through the scale
Of his exquisite gamut will ring for a mile.
Our roots have run down to gravity’s centre,
Some went on to China, and thieves pulled them through—
But that’s a tough story, and I shouldn’t venture,
In a high court of Justice to swear it is true.
And here we have oxen, stout animals, which
Might well go to Congress, representing their race,
Round gravity’s centre just give them a hitch,