1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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