TO MY BUTCHER.
O butcher, butcher of the bulbous eye,
That in hoarse accents bidst me "buy, buy, buy!"
Waving large hands suffused with brutish gore,
Have I not found thee evil to the core?
The greedy grocer grinds the face of me,
The baker trades on my necessity,
And from the milkman have I no surcease,
But thou art Plunder's perfect masterpiece.
These others are not always lost to shame;