1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave

9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum