And his head like a bear, and his tail like a cow!
Bring him back here in safety!--perform but this task,
And I'll give--Oh!--I'll give you whatever you ask!--
There is not a shrine
In the county shall shine
With a brilliancy half so resplendent as thine,
Or have so many candles, or look half so fine!--
Haste, holy St. Cuthbert, then,--hasten in pity!--"

Conceive his surprise
When a strange voice replies,
"It's a bargain!--but, mind, sir, THE BEST SPERMACETI!"--
Say, whose that voice?--whose that form by his side,
That old, old, gray man, with his beard long and wide,

In his coarse Palmer's weeds,
And his cockle and beads?--
And how did he come?--did he walk?--did he ride?
Oh! none could determine,--oh! none could decide,--
The fact is, I don't believe any one tried;
For while every one stared, with a dignified stride
And without a word more,
He marched on before,
Up a flight of stone steps, and so through the front door,
To the banqueting-hall that was on the first floor,
While the fiendish assembly were making a rare
Little shuttlecock there of the curly-wigged Heir.
--I wish, gentle Reader, that you could have seen
The pause that ensued when he stepped in between,
With his resolute air, and his dignified mien,