1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum