1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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