1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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