At five precisely out went La Marquise
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
They both are right not untamed mutterings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum