And Heaven soon granted what my sire denied.
Yon gas, which blazed last night long as my stick,
Had scarce burst into flame, when by its light
A half-starved, hungry mortal, rushed furiously
On my stall, devouring mince and mutton.
The watchman fled for succour, I alone
In Crib-like attitude, hover’d about the enemy,
Then pounced suddenly upon his meagre carcass,
And drew a half-munch’d pie from his devouring jaws.
I fought and conquer’d, ere a Charley came,