1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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