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
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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