1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14the best of all things to an end must come