LXI. “Palmology your art they style,” Replied the girl with sceptic smile, “I know you think but to beguile My simple pate; But there’s my homely hand awhile, Now read my fate.”
LXII. I sprang enraptured from my seat To grasp the prize, and play the cheat, I seized it—Oh! the electric heat That shook me now! I heard our hearts like drumsticks beat Strange row-da-dow.
LXIII. I lost my gay design of flattery, My ravished eyes grew somewhat watery, Her face was Love’s galvanic battery, Her arms the poles, So Peter’s heart was blown to tatters, ye Pitying souls!
LXIV. Close by the nymph I trembling stood, And all her heaven of beauty viewed; My lips to hers I rashly glued— But on the spot, In this voluptuous attitude Poor Pete is caught!
LXV. Back flies the door, the family all Rush with a noise into the hall, Led by a figure grim and tall, With whip in hand: “You daring rogue,” I heard him bawl, “What’s this I find?”
LXVI. As drops the fox the fluttering hen, When dogs and boys and armed men At once attack him in the pen, With furious din, So I now dropped the blushing Jane, And hung my chin.
LXVII. But, oh! the man who bore the whip Began to stamp, and swear, and rip, And laid the lash upon my hip So cutting sore, I gave a three-yard Yankee skip, And gained the door.
LXVIII. Outside I got, but close behind My foe pursued with speed of wind, His sounding thong with crimson lined My smarting back, And peeled from off my shanks the rind At every crack.
LXIX. I roared, and yelled, and danced a-head, Invoking powers of sacred dread, Till by superior speed I fled His lash unkind: But Oh! my hat—must it be said?— Was left behind!
LXX. Homeward I drove, bare-headed, lame, Smarting with love, and stripes, and shame— Oh! such a medley-mongrel-flame As this, ye fair! Made Peter curse your sacred name, And bang the air.