1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum