1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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