1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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