1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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