1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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