At five precisely out went La Marquise
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
He bent right down and well what did he seize
That suede ferments is not at all well known
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum