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
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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