1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone

5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14the best of all things to an end must come