“Try it again, Ma’am, only try!”
Was still the voluble Pedlar’s cry;
“It’s a great privation, there’s no dispute,
To live like the dumb unsociable brute,
And to hear no more of the pro and con,
And how Society’s going on,
Than Mumbo Jumbo or Prester John,
And all for want of this sine qua non;
  Whereas, with a horn that never offends,
You may join the genteelest party that is,
And enjoy all the scandal, and gossip, and quiz,
  And be certain to hear of your absent friends;—­
Not that elegant ladies, in fact,
In genteel society ever detract,
Or lend a brush when a friend is black’d,—­
At least as a mere malicious act,—­
But only talk scandal for fear some fool
Should think they were bred at charity school. 
  Or, maybe, you like a little flirtation,
Which even the most Don Juanish rake
Would surely object to undertake
  At the same high pitch as an altercation. 
It’s not for me, of course, to judge
How much a Deaf Lady ought to begrudge;
But half-a-guinea seems no great matter—­
Letting alone more rational patter—­
Only to hear a parrot chatter: 
Not to mention that feather’d wit,
The Starling, who speaks when his tongue is slit;
The Pies and Jays that utter words,
And other Dicky Gossips of birds,
That talk with as much good sense and decorum,
As many Beaks who belong to the quorum.

“Try it—­buy it—­say ten and six,
The lowest price a miser could fix: 
I don’t pretend with horns of mine,
Like some in the advertising line,
To ‘magnify sounds’ on such marvellous scales,
That the sounds of a cod seem as big as a whale’s;
But popular rumors, right or wrong,—­
Charity sermons, short or long,—­
Lecture, speech, concerto, or song,
All noises and voices, feeble or strong,
From the hum of a gnat to the clash of a gong,
This tube will deliver distinct and clear;
      Or, supposing by chance
      You wish to dance,
Why, it’s putting a Horn-pipe into your ear! 
      Try it—­buy it! 
      Buy it—­try it! 
The last New Patent, and nothing comes nigh it,
  For guiding sounds to their proper tunnel: 
Only try till the end of June,
And if you and the Trumpet are out of tune
  I’ll turn it gratis into a funnel!”

In short, the Pedlar so beset her,—­
Lord Bacon couldn’t have gammon’d her better,—­
With flatteries plump and indirect,
And plied his tongue with such effect,—­
A tongue that could almost have butter’d a crumpet,—­
The deaf old woman bought the Trumpet.

* * * * *

The Pedlar was gone.  With the horn’s assistance,
She heard his steps die away in the distance;
And then she heard the tick of the clock,
The purring of puss, and the snoring of Shock;
And she purposely dropped a pin that was little,
And heard it fall as plain as a skittle!