At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
Soliloquies predict great things old chum