1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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