At five precisely out went La Marquise
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
His toga rumpled high above his knees
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
The genealogist with field and fess
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum