And I'm sure, by the bellow of that bull, that the fellow is getting exceedingly wrathy.
Pouf! Now for a burst! Which to take the first of the turnstile wings is the floorer.
If I breast it wrongly, though I'm going strongly, I'll expose my rear to yon roarer.
Eugh! I fancy I feel his horns, like steel, my person viciously prodding.
Against such points broadcloth's no protection, although padded with woollen "wadding."
Oh, hang this bag! I shall lose the swag, if I slacken or lag one second.
I thought I had measured my distance so well, but I fear that I must have misreckoned.
That bull of Gladdy's most certainly mad is, though he gave me his word, the Old Slyboots,
It was perfectly quiet. I have Salisbury's fiat, but I wish he was only in my boots.
"Tithes first," indeed! Why, with all my speed, and my puffings, and perspiration,