Buck Nash, and of Beau Brummel, and of the fatal work,
Enacted in a duel, then struck a broken string,
And with a sigh she faltered, and then she ceased to sing.
I told her, composition of song, was in my line,
Then, with a look intended as tender and divine,
And mode of days of Brummel, in manner and in style,
She lauded up the bedroom with captivating smile,
Electro-biologic, magnetic in her glance,
She fixed me like a medium, as tenant in advance!