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
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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