At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
The understanding critic firstly sees
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
Platonic Greece was not so talentless
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum