And sat like a pound of cheese on his breast,
And devils and imps danced over his head,
And Satan grinn’d at the foot of his bed;
And the crowing cock his shrill clarion blew,
To whit! to whoo!
And hark again the crowing cock,
How drowsily it crew;
As if it was loth from its pillow to creep,
But determined at least to snore in its sleep.
Again the cock crew, while the glance of his eye,