1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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