Your visage is too sharp;
Your ear perhaps a trifle flat:
When I return, 'All round my hat'
We'll have upon the harp."

A tale, I know, has gone about,
That Dunstan twinged him by the snout
With pincers hotly glowing;
Levying, by _fieri facias_ tweak,
A diabolic screech and squeak,
No tender mercy showing.

But antiquarians the most curious
Reject that vulgar tale as spurious;
His reverence, say they,
Instead of giving nose a pull,
Resolved on vengeance just and full
Upon some future day.

Dunstan the saying called to mind,
"The devil through his paw behind
Alone shall penal torture find
From iron, lead, or steel."
Achilles thus had been eternal,
Thanks to his baptism infernal,
But for his mortal heel.

And so the saint, by wisdom guided,
To fix old Clootie's hoof decided
With horse-shoe of real metal,