Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
The bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum