1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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