I HEARD the woodfisher tapping,
The kingpecker blithe on the wing;
I looked, and turned out of the window
A patent back-action hand-spring.
My breath? 'T was to cheer up my sadness,
Just a tipple to banish my gloom;
But my face, which was cleanly, O madness!
Appeared to be going to bloom.
The nose I have worn from my childhood,
Which I follow wherever I go,
Like the bulbs that turn up in the wildwood,
Is swelled and beginning to blow.
A very remarkable instance
Came recently under my eye;
The sap of my system ran upwards,
And developed a very fine stye.
I forget my own age, and go bathing
In any trade-wind that I meet,
Till Lumbago says, "Sir, that is a thing
Romantic, but most indiscreet."