1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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