1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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