1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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