At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
Soliloquies predict great things old chum