1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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