Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
It's one of many horrid happenings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
A daring baron pockets precious Mings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
The best of all things to an end must come