Here is the store house of Her Majesty Well guarded by sentry but looks are free Call this the ray-less and benighted age Witches by tallow candles shifted Shifted their shapes Here is the pestle and mortar That ground the poison seed A lute, a suit for jousting And the poems of a balladeer When all the Latin books Were copied off in golden script Well hoarded away in A monastery crypt Superstition Superstition beyond belief Over mountain, over dune and over sea Crude map and compa** lead the caravan And lead the fleet Here's the loot and plunder They bore home Ivory tusk inlaid with precious stone Raw silk and spices by the barrel load A soft skin drum with mallets Of human bone A world wide rampage Rampage of greed So here the tour concludes The Colonial Wing The rooms of the most refined Museum property An early pair of spectacles A claw footed divan Ornate clocks with birds that strut On the half hours and quarter hours Hear them chime