1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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