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
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14the best of all things to an end must come