1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14the best of all things to an end must come