1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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