1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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