At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
The best of all things to an end must come