At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
They both are right not untamed mutterings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
When dried the terrapin can naught express
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
Bard I adore your endless monologue
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
The best of all things to an end must come