At five precisely out went La Marquise
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
His toga rumpled high above his knees
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum