1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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