To use a fitting phrase, he wound his way.
Then comes the rising, with repentance bitter,
And all the nerves—(and sparrows)—in a twitter,
Till settled by the sober Chinese cup:
The hands, o'er all, are members that make motions,
A sort of wavering, just like the ocean's,
Which has its swell, too, when it's getting up—
An awkward circumstance enough for elves
Who shave themselves;
And Simpson just was ready to go thro' it,