1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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