1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum