Enough! my speech has been in vain,
Now bare that breast of yours again;
I will dissect it spite of fate,
Your prayers and groans are all too late;
My friends, take hold: he squirms and twists
And with such energy resists,
That I—’Tis well, you’ve got him fast,
And I have got my way at last!
But, ere I venture to dissect him,
My friends, I ask you to inspect him.