1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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