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
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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