At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
Bard I adore your endless monologue
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum