That up and down its awkward arm doth sway,
And coolly spout, and spout, and spout away,
In one weak, washy, everlasting flood!
OF ALL THE MEN
Of all the men one meets about,
There’s none like Jack—he’s everywhere:
At church—park—auction—dinner—rout—
Go when and where you will, he’s there.
Try the West End, he’s at your back—
Meets you, like Eurus, in the East—