1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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