1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
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
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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