1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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