At five precisely out went La Marquise
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
Th'outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
The genealogist with field and fess
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum