A ball of cotton!
“Zounds!” you exclaim’ “’Tis very odd!”
Not so, for cotton was his god;
His heart was in it. Do you start?
It formed the nucleus of his heart;
And from the fire if he could save it,
Fame, party, Heaven itself, he’d brave it!
His scull is soft—his head is sore;—
His brain is tainted to the core;
And on his brain-case you may trace