1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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