The Colonial Wing

here is the store house of Her Majesty
 well guarded by sentry
 but looks are free
 call this the rayless 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 compass 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