Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
It's one of many horrid happenings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
Th'outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum