His quills I do detest;
Revision too, and manuscripts
With horror fill my breast.
My mind is fixed, I’ll up at once
And give him the straight tip.”
And so he did; but Routh was out,
So he gave it to his gyp;
Then Routh he smole a horrid smile,
And grinned a ghastly grin;
“He wants to take it out of me,