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
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave

9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum