by Julia Griffin

“A diamond tiara that once belonged to one of Britain’s most extravagant aristocrats
is up for sale on Saturday at a prestigious European art fair.
The Anglesey Tiara was at one time owned by Henry Cyril Paget—fifth Marquess of Anglesey.…
The fourth marquess left the 20-something Paget an estate worth £535,000—
equivalent to about £60m today. …
[He] became known as ‘The Dancing Marquess’ by the newspaper gossip sheets. …
[I]n the space of just over five years, [he] had blown the lot, been declared bankrupt,
and died from complications of tuberculosis in Monte Carlo.
He told a French journalist: ‘In six years, I have run through that fortune, just how—I could not tell you.’ …
He was just 29.”
—BBC News

He had a fleet of poodles;
His motors ran on scent;
Of jewels, he had oodles,
Draped over him like noodles.
Who knew how much he spent?

Not he. His self-aimed bounty
Might daily have financed
The budget of a county;
He let it mount and mount. He
Dropped diamonds as he danced.

Man spends, the bank disposes;
He crashed at twenty-nine,
And died (tuberculosis).
His kin came in with hoses,
Purell, and turpentine,

And set to work. Embittered?
They must have felt bereft;
They’d lost the wealth he’d frittered
On all that barked and glittered.
So no real trace is left;

But you who sense romance in
The shades of Anglesey
Might glimpse, if you should glance in,
The twinkle of a dance in
A marquessal marquee.