1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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