1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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