With teeth so terrible, and tongue so red,
In which he had engaged to put his head,
The bell-pull turn’d his courage into vapour,
As though ’t would cause a shower-bath to shed
Its thousand shocks, to make him sigh and caper—
He look’d askance, and did not like the scraper.
“What business have I here? (he thought) a dunce
A hopeless passion thus to fan and foster,
Instead of putting out its wick at once;
She’s gone—it’s very evident I’ve lost her,—