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
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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