And turns it o’er and o’er. Now time moves slowly on;
The hour-glass, which in yon old corner stands,
Is often view’d; for now his stomach keen,
Gnawing with greedy expectation,
Almost persuades him that the sands are stopp’d.
Now is his table placed near the fire,
His cloth of dingy hue is spread thereon;
His large clasp knife from out his pocket pull’d.
(A knife which oft has dealt destruction dire
To many a pudding, beef, or whate’er else