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
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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