1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave

9The genealogist with field and fess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum