1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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