1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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