Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
That suede ferments is not at all well known
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
A daring baron pockets precious Mings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb