But like a god,
Assumed to nod
As though he felt no fear.
The praises of pale ale anon the chords sung.
But, strange to say, no sounds of “Encore!” rung.
When Leslie through his teeth ’gan hum
His pretty air—it worried some.
The Song too of the “Steak”
Did not applause awake.
That lyric, like the rest, in rhythm was so rum.