At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone The roundabout eats profits made on swings Rejecting ermine to become a knave A darling baron pockets precious Mings The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave Platonic Greece was not so talentless In Indian summers Englishmen drink grog While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes No need to cart such treasures from the fog With marble souvenirs then fill a slum Fried grilled black pudding's still whe world's best yum