Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
They both are right not untamed mutterings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
A daring baron pockets precious Mings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb