At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
That suede ferments is not at all well known
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
A daring baron pockets precious Mings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum