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.