Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
The Turks said just take anything you please
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum