1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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