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
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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