Know you how I Ahab love?

His count’nance fits me like the glove

Of cassock Herman spoke thereof.

He cannot love. He cannot love.

And so Ahábic parts in me

I now extract—cranially.

I’ll take yon top-maul and I’ll smash

The brainy pieces into mash.

Pickle that, thou steward, care!

Save it–after I do dare

To choke the tooth of Moby out

Who groin’d me unto such despair.