1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown

5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum