1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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