At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
Old Galileo's Pisan offerings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
The genealogist with field and fess
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum