1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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