1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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