1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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