1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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