Where she and Queen Elizabeth keep house,—
You made the raps? 'T was your invention that?
Cur, slave, and devil!"—eight fingers and two thumbs
Stuck in my throat!
Well, if the marks seem gone,
'T is because stiffish cocktail, taken in time,
Is better for a bruise than arnica.
There, sir! I bear no malice: 't is n't in me.
I know I acted wrongly: still, I 've tried
What I could say in my excuse,—to show