Plunged next into the “Deep Deep Sea,”
And when on the keys she does begin,
Such awful torments soon you share,
She really seems like Milton’s “Sin,”
Holding the keys of—you know where!
Never tweak people’s ears so toughly,
That urchin-like they can’t help saying—
“O dear! O dear—you call this playing,
But oh, it’s playing very roughly!”
Oft, in the ecstasy of pain,