1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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