He could not think why bills were given,
Except to torture clerks—and sigh'd.
And when the flickering rushlight's flame
In darkness deep could scarce be seen,
He mutter'd forth his bottled spleen,
Unheard by aught of mortal frame.
He said, "My life is very dreary
With living in this ditch;"
He said, "I am tarnation weary,
I would that I were rich."