1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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