1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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