1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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