1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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