1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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