At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
His toga rumpled high above his knees
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
Soliloquies predict great things old chum