1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
← OPEN dataBase