And with forgotten Punches idly toy,
How it will reconcile me to my fate
To muse upon the mouth-wash you employ.
Or, squirming in the plush-upholstered chair,
How shall I thrill with valour to observe
Among the implements of torture there
A magnum of the best, to brace my nerve.
Not the hooked probe nor hum of whirring file,
The fearful forceps nor the needled lance
Will wholly banish my expectant smile