1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave

9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress

12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum