At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
A daring baron pockets precious Mings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum