And stamps him an Hermaphrodite!
And there are others quite congenial
Which serve to mark the serf and menial.
But, Fowler, I owe you an apology,
I tramp on your coat tail, Phrenology.
His nerves are dead in every sense,
His breath is rank and gives offense,
His flesh—I touch it with my blade;
Of such the flunkey tribe is made,
The patient tribe who ready stand