1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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