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4th July, 1882, Malines. Midnight.
Belgian, with cumbrous tread and iron boots,Who in the murky middle of the night,Designing to renew the foul pursuitsIn which thy life is passed, ill-favoured wight.And wishing on the platform to alightWhere thou couldst mingle with thy fellow brutes,Didst walk the carriage floor (a leprous sight),As o'er the sky some baleful meteor shoots:Upon my slippered foot thou didst descend,Didst rouse me from my slumbers mad with pain.And laughedst loud for several minutes' space.Oh may'st thou suffer tortures without end:May fiends with glowing pincers rend thy brain.And beetles batten on thy blackened face!
