From such mishap I can the baby save;
          Yet solemnly I vow, for none but you
          I’d undertake the toilsome job to do. 
          The ills of others, if I may be plain,
          Except your husband’s, never give me pain;
          But him I’d serve for ever, while I’ve breath;
          To do him good I’d e’en encounter death. 
          Now let us see, without more talk or fears,
          If I know how to forge the bantling ears. 
          Remember, cried the wife, to make them like. 
          Leave that to me, said he, I’ll justly strike. 
          Then he prepared for work; the dame gave way;
          Not difficult she proved:—­well pleased she lay;
          Philosophy was never less required,
          And Andrew’s process much the fair admired,
          Who, to his work extreme attention paid;
          ’Twas now a tendon; then a fold he made,
          Or cartilage, of which he formed enough,
          And all without complaining of the stuff. 
          To-morrow we will polish it, said he: 
          Then in perfection soon the whole will be;
          And from repeating this so oft, you’ll get
          As perfect issue as was ever met. 
          I’m much obliged to you, the wife replied,
          A friend is good in whom we may confide.

          Nextday, when tardy Time had marked the hour;
          That Andrew hoped again to use his pow’r,
          He was not plunged in sleep, but briskly flew,
          His purpose with the charmer to pursue. 
          Said he, all other things aside I’ve laid,
          This ear to finish, and to lend you aid. 
          And I, the dame replied, was on the eve,
          To send and beg you not the job to leave;
          Above stairs let us go:—­away they ran,
          And quickly recommenced as they began. 
          The work so oft was smoothed, that Alice showed
          Some scruples lest the ear he had bestowed
          Should do too much, and to the wily wight,
          She said, so little you the labour slight,
          ’Twere well if ears no more than two appear;
          Of that, rejoined the other, never fear;
          I’ve guarded thoroughly against defects,
          Mistake like that shall ne’er your senses vex.

          Theear howe’er was still in hand the same,
          When from his journey home the husband came. 
          Saluted Alice, who with anxious look,
          Exclaimed,—­your work how finely you forsook,
          And, but for neighbour Andrew’s kindness here,
          Our child would incomplete have been—­an ear,
          I could not let a thing remain like this,
          And Andrew would not be to friends remiss,
          But, worthy man, he left his thriving trade,
          And for the babe a proper ear has made.