That ebon brain-box (imitation beaver)
Whose torrid aspect strikes the passer-by
With tertian fever.
As something far beyond me I respect
The virtue, equal to the stiffest crux,
Which thus forbids your costume to deflect
Into the primrose path of straw and ducks;
I praise that fine regard for red-hot tape
Which calmly and without an eyelid's flutter
Suffers the maddening noon to melt your nape