Next * * rush’d—his eye’s clear fire
Told of power that lurk’d within—
In some few words he squashed the liar,
And stripp’d the falsehoods bare and thin.
With woeful measures, poor Joe Hume!
Low plaintive sounds beguiled his soul,
In solemn, strange, and fearful fume,
He summ’d the “tottle of the whole.”
But thou, old boy! with tongue so glib,
What was thy expected pleasure?