1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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