1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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