1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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