1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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