“That’s right,” said I, “it shows your breed.”

He danced—he stamped—he wildly swore—

“Bless me, that’s very fine indeed!”

“Sir,” said the grand Shakespearean boy

(Continuing to blaze away),

“You think my face a source of joy;

That shows you know not what you say.

“Forgive these yells and cellar-flaps:

I’m always thrown in some such state

When on his face well-meaning chaps