And perjured out his Claim.
“Untrue! untrue!” Then, through and through
The weary weeks he worked the rack;
But March had youth, ere with the Truth
He dealt the final whack.
“And hast thou slain the Waggawock
Come to my arms, my Beamish Boy!
O Coleridge, J.! Hoorah! hooray!”
Punch chortled in his joy.
Shirley Brooks, 1872.