1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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