At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
His toga rumpled high above his knees
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Filching the lolly country thrift helped save
Th'outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum