He had hardly had time to put this on his back,
And he looked like a Falstaff half fuddled with sack.
His eyes how they twinkled! Had the doctor got merry?
His cheeks looked like Port, and his breath smelt of Sherry.
He had’nt been shaved for a fortnight or so,
And the beard on his chin wasn’t white as the snow.
But inspecting their tongues in despite of their teeth,
And drawing his watch from his waistcoat beneath,
He felt of each pulse,—saying—“Each little belly
Must get rid”—here he laughed—“of the rest of that jelly.”