You seemed to see them rise and fall,
As infant supers—wretched little slaves—
Under the canvass crawl.
And one a full-faced, flashed comedian—low—
Showing his teeth, with nervous strain,
With queer goggle-eyes striking like a blow,
And causing quite a pain.
And one a miser, hoarding fruits of toil,
In front a bony beak, behind,
Wisps of grey hairs all destitute of oil,