1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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