1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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