"And that poor injer'd hanimal
"Is in a faintin state;
"There aint a thimblefull of shine,
"The fog's as black as pitch,—
"I'm flummox'd'tween them posteses
"And that most 'ateful ditch.
"So bundle out! my'oss is beat;
"I'm sick of this'ere night;—
I say, you Sir in there,—hear?——
He's bolted—blow me tight!"