1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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