1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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