1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave

9The genealogist with field and fess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum