1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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