1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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