1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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