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

5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb