At five precisely out went La Marquise
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?