At five precisely out went La Marquise
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
The genealogist with field and fess
With gravity at gravity's great cog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
And let you off from your opinions glum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum