1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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