And he—well, I’m almost afraid to disclose;
Well—he took up his hat and he blew at his nose,
And—did as do Fakirs, or people called Quakers,
Or a gentleman namesake of his, “Bobby Acres,”
And exclaimed, “Why, hullo! here’s a rum go.
That fellow has made us do just what he chose.
We certainly might have saved all our jaws.
Thank God,” with a pause, “there’s the wild duck clause;
But they’ll laugh at and quiz us all over their town,
We’re all of us done so uncommonly brown.”