1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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