1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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