Of such tenacity his grip That nothing from his hand can slip. Well-buttered eels you may o'erwhelm In tubs of liquid slippery-elm In vain--from his detaining pinch They cannot struggle half an inch! 'Tis lucky that he so is planned That breath he draws not with his hand, For if he did, so great his greed He'd draw his last with eager speed. Nay, that were well, you say. Not so He'd draw but never let it go!
Lugar: ¶1629 Licença: Public domain · Fonte O texto é dado como na edição, sem alterações.