1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?