Keeps performing a kind of perpetual goose-step.
For the vast population, the hand cultivation
Of the still fertile country no longer suffices;
Though to drain swamps they toil, and to carry up soil
To the rocky hill sides, no unfrequent device is.
And, on seeing their dainties, poor Punch fit to faint is,
As he cries, "Nought but famine gives such things a price!"
"Rats and mice, and such small deer," snakes and puppies are all dear.
As helping to eke out their pittance of rice.
Now whilst thus his quick wit is on their antiquities