1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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