Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?