At five precisely out went La Marquise
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
With gravity at gravity's great cog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum