1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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