Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum