O Horror! Horror! Horror! Tongue

Sick In The World's Regard, Wretched And Low.

Scarce Can I Speak, My Choler Is So Great. Oh! I Could Hew Up Rocks, And Fight With Flint.

Talkers Are No Good Doers.

And, Looking On It With Lack-lustre Eye, Says Very Wisely, "it Is Ten O'clock: Thus We May See," Quoth He, "how The World Wags."

...vaulted With Such Ease Into His Seat, As If An Angel Dropp'd Down From The Clouds, To Turn And Wind A Fiery Pegasus, And Witch The World With Noble Horsemanship.