Said I, "I've enjoyed your juices, breast and back; but tell me, Goose, is
This revenge, and what the use is of your being such a bore?
For Goose-flesh I will no more ax, if you'll not sit on my thorax,
Go try honey mixed with borax, for I hear your throat is sore,
You speak gruffly, though too plainly, and I'm sure your throat is sore."
Quoth the nightmare, "Eat no more!"
"Goose!" I shrieked out, "leave, oh, leave me, surely you don't mean to grieve me,
You are heavy, pray reprieve me, now my penance must be o'er;
Though to-night you've brought me sorrow, comfort surely comes to-morrow,
Some relief from those I'd borrow at my doctor's ample store."