1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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