"You are all fools!" the lady said,—
"The way is, just to shave his head.
Run! bid the barber come anon."
"Thanks, mother!" thought her clever son;
"You help the knaves that would have bit me,
But all creation sha'n't outwit me!"
Thus to himself, while to and fro
His fingers perseveres to go,
And from his lips no accent flows
But—"Here she goes, and there she goes!"