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
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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