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
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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