1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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