At five precisely out went La Marquise
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
And let you off from your opinions glum
The best of all things to an end must come