At five precisely out went La Marquise
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
The understanding critic firstly sees
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb