1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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