At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
Old Galileo's Pisan offerings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb