At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Bard I adore your endless monologue
And let you off from your opinions glum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum