Then toiling through the town to bear it back.
The water drawn, they rest awhile. Sweet sips
Of nectar then for Jack from Jill's red lips,
And then with arms entwined they homeward go;
Till mid the mad mud's moistened mush Jack slips.
Sweet Heaven, draw a veil on this sad plight,
His crazéd cries and cranium cracked; the fright
Of gentle Jill, her wretchedness and wo!
Kind Phœbus, drive thy steeds and end this night!
(As Walt Whitman might have written it)