Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
The understanding critic firstly sees
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
The best of all things to an end must come