1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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