1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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