Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
The Turks said just take anything you please
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb