For our two poor cylinders;
All we have is vile and shoddy;
See that low-hung touring brute—
There's a bonnet! there's a body
Worthy of a road-knight's loot!"
Thus I spake; but, still phlegmatic,
Imperturbable and stout,
Rendering Doric for my Attic,
Robert pulled his note-book out;
Said, "Me dooty is me dooty,"