1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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