1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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