1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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