But the old bitch snapped at his fingers the more.
Is he hurt? or doth he squall?
I think he’s hurt tho’ he doth not squall,
But he curses much, like a naughty man,
And swears as often as swear he can;
And like a ‘little limber elf,’
Singeth and danceth to himself.
He must be hurt, I’m sure he must,—
Or he scarce would dare to kick up such a dust;
And certain I am, by his look, ’ifegs,