Knott was delighted with a pile Approved by fashion's leaders: (Only he made the builder smile, By asking every little while, Why that was called the Twodoor style, Which certainly had _three_ doors?) Yet better for this luckless man 70 If he had put a downright ban Upon the thing _in limine;_ For, though to quit affairs his plan, Ere many days, poor Knott began Perforce accepting draughts, that ran All ways--except up chimney; The house, though painted stone to mock, With nice white lines round every block, Some trepidation stood in, When tempests (with petrific shock, 80 So to speak,) made it really rock, Though not a whit less wooden; And painted stone, howe'er well done, Will not take in the prodigal sun Whose beams are never quite at one With our terrestrial lumber; So the wood shrank around the knots, And gaped in disconcerting spots, And there were lots of dots and rots And crannies without number, 90 Wherethrough, as you may well presume, The wind, like water through a flume, Came rushing in ecstatic, Leaving, in all three floors, no room That was not a rheumatic; And, what with points and squares and rounds Grown shaky on their poises, The house at nights was full of pounds, Thumps, bumps, creaks, scratchings, raps--till--'Zounds!' Cried Knott, 'this goes beyond all bounds; 100 I do not deal in tongues and sounds, Nor have I let my house and grounds To a family of Noyeses!' But, though Knott's house was full of airs, _He_ had but one,--a daughter; And, as he owned much stocks and shares, Many who wished to render theirs Such vain, unsatisfying cares, And needed wives to sew their tears, In matrimony sought her; 110 They vowed her gold they wanted not, Their faith would never falter, They longed to tie this single Knott In the Hymeneal halter; So daily at the door they rang, Cards for the belle delivering, Or in the choir at her they sang, Achieving such a rapturous twang As set her nerves ashivering. Now Knott had quite made up his mind 120 That Colonel Jones should have her; No beauty he, but oft we find Sweet kernels 'neath a roughish rind, So hoped his Jenny'd be resigned And make no more palaver; Glanced at the fact that love was blind, That girls were ratherish inclined To pet their little crosses, Then nosologically defined The rate at which the system pined 130 In those unfortunates who dined Upon that metaphoric kind Of dish--their own proboscis.