1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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