Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
Soliloquies predict great things old chum