On a head bluff and bulky, just like ... Beachy Head!
At the root of its chaps—like a ring on a pig—
How becoming that circular thicket of wig!
When it yawns, it must petrify all the beholders
By jerking its jobbernowl back on its shoulders!—
What the plague does it carry stuff’d out from its throttle,—
Like cherries, or strawberries, cramm’d in a pottle?
But to balance the load, on its back there’s a bump,
And, for tail, a few feathers, see! perk’d on its hump,
Then its wings!—not a Dab-chick has smaller or shorter;