1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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