At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
A daring baron pockets precious Mings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
Platonic Greece was not so talentless
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
Bard I adore your endless monologue
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
The best of all things to an end must come