Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
They both are right not untamed mutterings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
The best of all things to an end must come