1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess

12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum