The sight of the King with that flame-face of his
Was something exceedingly horrid;
The rain, as it fell on his flight, gave a fizz
Like unbottled champagne, and went off with a whizz
As it sprinkled his rubicund forehead.
The sound of his voice as he soared to the sky
Was that of a ghoul with the grumbles.
His teeth were so hot, and his tongue was so dry,
That his shout seemed us raucous as though one should try
To play on a big drum with dumb-bells.