1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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