I’d say, O slay me! or else permit it.
The smiling face, the enchanting eye,
The rosy cheek of the maiden shy—
They grip me, sir, with hooks of steel;
My eyes run fast; my brain will reel,
And my heart will feel—
Frankly, sir, I cannot help it.”
“’Tis true, my teeth went long ago;
Now painless ones I have, you know.
Yet I visit oft in my tar-heel town