At five precisely out went La Marquise
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
Old Galileo's Pisan offerings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum