ls for the human frame,
Or Rowland's O-don't-o (an ominous name),
A Doudney's suit which the shape so hits
That it beats all others into _fits_;
A Mechi's razor for beards unshorn,
Or a Ghost-of-a-Whisper-Catching Horn!

"Try it again, Ma'am, only try!"
Was still the voluble Pedlar's cry;
"It's a great privation, there's no dispute,
To live like the dumb unsociable brute,
And to hear no more of the _pro_ and _con_,
And how Society's going on,
Than Mumbo Jumbo or Prester John,
And all for want of this _sine qua non_;
Whereas, with a horn that never offends,
You may join the genteelest party that is,
And enjoy all the scandal, and gossip, and quiz,
And be certain to hear of your absent friends;--
Not that elegant ladies, in fact,
In genteel society ever detract,
Or lend a brush when a friend is black'd,--
At least as a mere malicious act,--
But only talk scandal for fear some fool
Should think they were bred at _charity_ school.
Or, maybe, you like a little flirtation,
Which even the most Don Juanish rake
Would surely object to undertake
At the same high pitch as an altercation.
It's not for me, of course, to judge
How much a Deaf Lady ought to begrudge;
But half-a-guinea seems no great matter--
Letting alone more rational patter--
Only to hear a parrot chatter:
Not to mention that feather'd wit,
The Starling, who speaks when his tongue is slit;
The Pies and Jays that utter words,
And other Dicky Gossips of birds,
That talk with as much good sense and decorum,
As many _Beaks_ who belong to the quorum.

"Try it--buy it--say ten and six,
The lowest price a miser could fix:
I don't pretend with horns of mine,
Like some in the advertising line,
To '_magnify sounds_' on such marvellous scales,
That the sounds of a cod seem as big as a whale's;
But popular rumors, right or wrong,--
Charity sermons, short or long,--
Lecture, speech, concerto, or song,
All noises and voices, feeble or strong,
From the hum of a gnat to the clash of a gong,
This tube will deliver distinct and clear;
Or, supposing by chance
You wish to dance,
Why, it's putting a _Horn-pipe_ into your ear!
Try it--buy it!
Buy it--try it!
The last New Patent, and nothing comes nigh it,
For guiding sounds to their proper tunnel:
Only try till the end of June,
And if you and the Trumpet are out of tune
I'll turn it gratis into a funnel!"

In short, the Pedlar so beset her,--
Lord Bacon couldn't have gammon'