At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum