1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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