At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
The understanding critic firstly sees
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum