1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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