Or dance so nimbly when he hears a tune;
While, as for singing—ah, my forte is there;
Tigellius’ self might envy me, I’ll swear.”
He paused for breath. I falteringly strike in:
“Have you a mother? Have you kith or kin
To whom your life is precious?” “Not a soul;
My line’s extinct; I have interred the whole.”
Oh, happy they! (so into thought I fell)
After life’s endless babble they sleep well.
My turn is next: despatch me, for the weird