Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
The Turks said just take anything you please
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
The bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum