At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum