At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
Old Galileo's Pisan offerings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
And let you off from your opinions glum
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum