At five precisely out went La Marquise
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
The genealogist with field and fess
A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum