And says I he must be waiting for a taste of human gore.
This I said, and nothing more.
While in the gutter lying, I saw that bull go flying
Along the road, at such a speed he’d never gone before.
So I let him go and curs’d him, and prayed the fates might burst him,
For my bicycle he’d humbugged, and he’d made me “awful” sore,
And I felt he’d quite undone me, but he’d never do so more.
And I muttered nevermore.
I collected up the ruins of that nasty mad bull’s doin’s,
And straightway did I take them unto my cottage-door.