1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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