Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
Th'outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Platonic Greece was not so talentless
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Bard I adore your endless monologue
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum