1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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