1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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