Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne The showman gargles fire and sword with ease And loudly sang off-key without a tone O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave The fertile mother changeling drops like kings To break a rule Britannia's might might waive The peasant's skirts on rainy days she'd tress A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress With breaking voice across the Alps they slog Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb? Fried grilled black pudding's still whe world's best yum Different Poem