Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
His toga rumpled high above his knees
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?