1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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