Of tongue so shrill and ears so round.
No more I listen to the noise
Of “wind him, rogues,” and “to him boys,”
The “touch,” the “drag,” and “tallihoe,”
And “gone away,” and “there they go;”
And how we earth’d him at Crick Chase,
Or lost him at some cursed place;
From all such ills that did attend us,
Henceforth, good Jupiter, defend us!
But come, thou genius of “Loo Whoore,”