1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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