King Carlos turns his coat for better fees

and sniffs the smoke that sets his nose aglow

the chosen fruit is hued a bright cerise

so stink the rotting skins from long ago

And thus it was a sib steeped in sottise

as castles blaze and palaces burn low

mixing broom with chives shows expertise

when March's hailstones batter the batteau

The wolf adores the cock and the cocotte

the shark is smoked on beds of bergamot

he'd really like to root out the cuckquean

Those Latin states spin like a weathercock

the bankers in Provence exchange baiock?

clear from the start the ending is foreseen