1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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