1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14the best of all things to an end must come
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