1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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