1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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