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
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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