1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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