1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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