Classic Poem

  B. Sir , he 's a fellow
To take the devil by the sinister horn,
And twirl him like a top. Some years ago,
He needs must fly this honest wholesome country,
To sniff bad air in France. 'Twas there (he swore 't!)
He slew a regiment; and—with his eyes—
Murdered a world of women! Thence he went
To Rome; and for some threepence did propose
To drink up brimming Tiber till 'twas dry.
  A. And did he do 't?
  B. E'gad, sir, I can't tell you:
But I lean much to doubt: for, spite o' the bet,—
I 've heard that still the river's bed runs moist,
And Rome does not lack water.