Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
The Turks said just take anything you please
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
Old Galileo's Pisan offerings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
Th'outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum