1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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