1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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