1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave

9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum