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
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14the best of all things to an end must come
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