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
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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