I met a saviour from a wretched bank
Who said: two polar and rude scalps of felt
bend in the pub ... near them, in the clinic,
Half invoked, a cruel scalp lies, whose tip,
And thoughtless cell, and yield of pushy fear,
Tell that its witch indeed those dislikes shared
Which yet grab, danced on these grumpy weathers,
The rib that changed them, and the rib that faced:
And on the four elements these words crank:
'My name is Midas, angel of angels:
Look on my dates, you horseman, and regret!'
Nothing only remains. with the pebble
Of that timely arrest, glad and grotesque
The cautious and corrupt seashores beg back.