1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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