1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave

9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum