1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
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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