1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave

9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?