At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
He bent right down and well what did he seize
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum