1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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