Though it's twenty to one that the wretch must drown,
With twenty sticks to hold her down;
Including the help to the self-same end,
Which a travelling Pedlar stops to lend.
A Pedlar!--Yes!--The same!--the same!
Who sold the Horn to the drowning Dame!
And now is foremost amid the stir,
With a token only revealed to her;
A token that makes her shudder and shriek,
And point with her finger, and strive to speak -
But before she can utter the name of the Devil,
Her head is under the water level!



MORAL.

There are folks about town--to name no names -
Who much resemble the deafest of Dames!
And over their tea, and muffins, and crumpets,
Circulate many a scandalous word,
And whisper tales they could only have heard
Through some such Diabolical Trumpets!



GLOSSARY