This chaffing Dunstan could not brook,
  His clenched fist, his crabbed look
      Betrayed his irritation. 
  ’Twas nuts for Nick’s derisive jaw,
  Who fairly chuckled when he saw
      The placid saint’s vexation.

  “Au revoir, friend, adieu till noon;
  Just now you are rather out of tune,
      Your visage is too sharp;
  Your ear perhaps a trifle flat: 
  When I return, ‘All round my hat’
      We’ll have upon the harp.”

  A tale, I know, has gone about,
  That Dunstan twinged him by the snout
      With pincers hotly glowing;
  Levying, by fieri facias tweak,
  A diabolic screech and squeak,
      No tender mercy showing.

  But antiquarians the most curious
  Reject that vulgar tale as spurious;
      His reverence, say they,
  Instead of giving nose a pull,
  Resolved on vengeance just and full
      Upon some future day.

  Dunstan the saying called to mind,
  “The devil through his paw behind
  Alone shall penal torture find
      From iron, lead, or steel.” 
  Achilles thus had been eternal,
  Thanks to his baptism infernal,
      But for his mortal heel.

  And so the saint, by wisdom guided,
  To fix old Clootie’s hoof decided
      With horse-shoe of real metal,
  And iron nails quite unmistakable;
  For Dunstan, now become implacable,
      Resolved Nick’s hash to settle.

  Satan, of this without forewarning,
  Worse luck for him! the following morning,
      With simper sauntered in;
  Squinted at what the saint was doing,
  But never smoked the mischief brewing,
  Putting his foot in’t; soon the shoeing
      Did holy smith begin.

  Oh! ’twas worth coin to see him seize
  That ugly leg, and ’twixt his knees
      Firmly the pastern grasp. 
  The shoe he tried on, burning hot,
  His tools all handy he had got,
      Hammer, and nails, and rasp.

  A startled stare the devil lent,
  Much wondering what St. Dunstan meant
      This preluding to follow. 
  But the first nail from hammer’s stroke
  Full soon Nick’s silent wonder broke,
  For his shrill scream might then have woke
      The sleepiest of Sleepy Hollow.

  And distant Echo heard the sound
  Vexing the hills for leagues around,
      But answer would not render. 
  She may not thus her lips profane: 
  So Shadow, fearful of a stain,
      Avoids the black offender.

  The saint no pity had on Nick,
  But drove long nails right through the quick;
      Louder shrieked he, and faster. 
  Dunstan cared not; his bitter grin,
  Without mistake, showed Father Sin
      He had found a ruthless master.

  And having driven, clenched, and filed,
  The saint reviewed his work, and smiled
      With cruel satisfaction;
  And jeering said, “Pray, ere you go,
  Dance me the pas seul named ‘Jim Crow,’
      With your most graceful action.”