At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
That suede ferments is not at all well known
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
The best of all things to an end must come