1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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