At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
The understanding critic firstly sees
That suede ferments is not at all well known
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Filching the lolly country thrift helped save
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
Platonic Greece was not so talentless
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum