1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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