1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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