At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
Soliloquies predict great things old chum