At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
The understanding critic firstly sees
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum