At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum