Said one—«Folks of a surly Master tell,
And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell;
They talk of some sharp Trial of us—Pish!
He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well.»
In the first draft of ed. 3. the stanza begins:
«Why,» said another, «Dismal people tell
Of an old Savage who will toss to Hell
The luckless Pots,» etc.
LXXXIX. In ed. 2:
«Well,» said another, «Whoso will, let try.»
XC. In ed. 2:
One spied the little Crescent all were seeking.
XCI. In ed. 2:
And wash my Body whence the Life has died.
XCIII. In ed. 2: