1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9The genealogist with field and fess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum