1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum