1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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