At five precisely out went La Marquise
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
It's one of many horrid happenings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum