1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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