1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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