1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave

9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb