1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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