1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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