1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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