At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
The understanding critic firstly sees
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum