For, bless my soul, when he had lit he’d run
himself head-fust
Right down in that molasses pail;—he thought
his head had bust!
And that the stuff a-runnin’ down and gobbed
acrost his face
Was quarts of gore, and so old Pease had clean
give up his case.
And there he stood like some old hen a-drippin’
in the rain,