They could not well plead that old-fashioned excuse
Of aching, because they're decayed or grown loose.
But his eye was his pride—'twas a regular piercer,
Than even a Cyclops it made him look fiercer;
For it stared every way
At the same time of day,
Nor yet from yourself for a moment would stray.
Now of his left optic I've heard, and don't doubt it,
He really had seen, and looked better without it;
For, besides being not half so big as the other,