1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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