1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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