1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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