1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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