IV
And how stands she, artillerist,
Among the vapours waxing dense,
With cannon charged? ’Tis hist! and hist!
And now she screws a gouty fist,
And now she counts to clutch her pence.
V
With shudders chill as aconite,
The couchant chewer of the cud
Will start at times in pussy fright
Before the dogs, when reads her sprite
The streaks predicting streams of blood.