1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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