I did not see, nor either freckled cheek,
Nor teeth, nor ear, nor bald spot on the peak:
The waggle, waggle, waggle held the scene.
I like thee, master, for thy forehead seared
By crash of pewters foaming to the brink;
I like thee, master, for thy fingers pink
That never once hath honest labor smeared;
I like thee for thy nose’s Roman kink,
But Zooks! I love that waggle, waggle beard.
To which was added,