And one may doubt quite reasonably whether
He has a mouth,
Seeing his head and tail are joined together.
Behold him,—there he is, John, in the South.”
John look’d up with his portentous eyes,
Each rolling like a marble in its socket.
At last the fiery tad-pole spies,
And, full of Vauxhall reminiscence, cries,
“A rare good rocket!”
“A what! A rocket, John! Far from it!