1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown

5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum