At five precisely out went La Marquise
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
His toga rumpled high above his knees
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
They both are right not untamed mutterings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum