1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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