1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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