At five precisely out went La Marquise
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
That suede ferments is not at all well known
It's one of many horrid happenings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
And let you off from your opinions glum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb