1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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