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At five precisely out went La Marquise
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
And starve the snivelling baby like a dog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
Their sculptors did our best our hulks they clog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
Fried grilled black pudding's still whe world's best yum