1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7the learning linguist cameramaniac sings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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