1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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