At five precisely out went La Marquise
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
Replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum