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 | The collected works of Ambrose Bierce |  |
[Of such tenacity his grip]
Of such tenacity his gripThat nothing from his hand can slip.
Well-buttered eels you may o'erwhelm
In tubs of liquid slippery-elm
In vain—from his detaining pinch
They cannot struggle half an inch!
'Tis lucky that he so is planned
That breath he draws not with his hand,
For if he did, so great his greed
He'd draw his last with eager speed.
Nay, that were well, you say. Not so
He'd draw but never let it go!
| The collected works of Ambrose Bierce | |