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
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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