More striking than classic, it "settled my hash,"

    And proved very soon the last act of our session.

    "Fiddlesticks, is it, sir? I wonder the ceiling

    Doesn't fall down and crush you—you men have no feeling;

    You selfish, unnatural, illiberal creatures,

    Who set yourselves up as patterns and preachers,

    Your silly pretense—why, what a mere guess it is!

    Pray, what do you know of a woman's necessities?

    I have told you and shown you I've nothing to wear,

    And it's perfectly plain you not only don't care,

    But you do not believe me" (here the nose went still higher).

    "I suppose, if you dared, you would call me a liar.

    Our engagement is ended, sir—yes, on the spot;

    You're a brute, and a monster, and—I don't know what."

    I mildly suggested the words Hottentot,

    Pickpocket, and cannibal, Tartar, and thief,

    As gentle expletives which might give relief;

    But this only proved as a spark to the powder,

    And the storm I had raised came faster and louder;

    It blew and it rained, thundered, lightened and hailed

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