At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb