1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum