A queer sensation trickled o'er his cheek.
In vain each nerve he strains to turn his eyes,
For they're immovable; but soon he spies
A large red worm, and in its trail there creep
A dozen more, who prowl about and peep
Into his mouth and nose, and tickle so
That what to do he's puzzled much to know.
"The bait has 'scaped from out my box," thought he;
"And, while entranced, from spite would bother me."
What would he not have given for a scratch!