1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess

12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14the best of all things to an end must come