'Twould soon set her cheekbone a frying;
He spit in the tenter ground near Spitalfields,
And the hole that it burnt, and the chalk that it yields,
Make a capital lime-kiln for drying.
When he open'd his mouth, out there issued a blast
(Nota bene, I do not mean swearing),
But the noise that it made, and the heat that it cast,
I've heard it from those who have seen it, surpass'd
A shot manufactory flaring.
He blazed, and he blazed, as he gallop'd to snatch