I like-wise love thee in thy state material,
Thou merry fellow, Punchinello!
Thou chip of an old block!
Thou wooden god of fun!—practical pun!
Thou hearty cock!
Thou dissipator of Policeman's vapours,
In whose grim face,
Ting'd with the blueishness of nothing-to-doishness,
We oft may trace
A grin as he beholds thee cut thy capers.