Him trundle to a toad:—
O! heaven, pray change this direful luck,
And let the devils goad” * * *
Joe almost swoon’d: he bent his head,
And press’d his aching sides;
A hundred times wish’d he was dead,
And that d——’d rogue besides:
Search’d all his pockets o’er and o’er,
But not a mite could find;
Scratch’d his poor temples till so sore