1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave

9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum