1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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