Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
The Turks said just take anything you please
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
They both are right not untamed mutterings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb