1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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