1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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