At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
Filching the lolly country thrift helped save
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
The bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum