1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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