Of "Pinafore," at which I stopped my ears.
"Master," quoth I, "pray may I speak with him ?
He looks like one I knew in Freshman year."
"No," said great Bohn, "if you escaped him then,
Trust not yourself within his clutch again.
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But, if conditioned, it may give you joy
To know that he now falls into the trap
He set for others. He is doomed to sing
This wretched music till the end of time."
At that another spirit hurried by,
And "???" he screamed aloud,
Full twenty times. "That is to say," quoth Bohn,
Who could translate as well as e'er before.
And then he pointed to a piteous sight:
Sunk to their arm-pits in a slough of mud,
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