Fate threw him on the fish call'd "Many-feet."
He purchased it and drest it; and the whole,
Bate me the head, form'd but a single swallow.
A crudity ensued—the doctor came,
And the first glance inform'd him things went wrong.
And "Friend," quoth he, "if thou hast aught to set
In order, to it straight;—pass but seven hours,
And thou and life must take a long farewell."
"I've nought to do," replied the bard: "all's right
And tight about me—nothing's in confusion—