Up jumped Borax Bumps, Esq. and running his shoulder of mutton palms with scientific velocity over the curly-wigged cranium of the comical coffin-maker, he emphatically pronounced the “organ of tune” to exhibit a musical Pelion among its intellectual nodosities.
“I should take your father, sir, to have been a parish clerk, from this mountainous developement of Sternhold and Hopkins.”
“My song shall be a toast” said the comical coffin-maker:
“TOASTED CHEESE!”
Taffy ap-Tudor he couldn't be worse—
The Leech having bled him in person and purse.
His cane at his nose, and his fee in his fob,
Bow'd off, winking Crape to look out for a job.
“Hur Taffy will never awake from his nap!
Ap-Tudor! ap-Jones! oh!” cried nurse Jenny-ap-