1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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