1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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