1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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