Oh that I had the enchanted pen
Whose words were write in blood and fire
Which were indellible3; for then
I'd gratify my own desire
And to all future ages show
The sorrows of my poor old toe
My poor old toe How long have you
with stick and stump and stone contended
Your thwacks and thumps have not been few
And well I wish that they were ended
But yet they come and none can know
when they will ceace. My poor old toe
What have I done that I should bear
The pains and sufferings of this sore
I am no worse than others are
Then why should I be punished more
I know not why but it is sore
And I cant cure my poor old toe
Tis something strange indeed to me
When ere I walk in crowds or lone
Just in my path there'll always be
Some obstacle a block or stone
And thus you see where'ere I go
I'm sure to stump4 my poor old toe
A dozen folks may with me walk
And each may have like me ten toes
Yet while unhurt they laugh and talk
I writhe beneath the killing blows
which every moment fill with woe
unutterable my poor old toe5
Tis said Lord Byron used to curse
His illstared fate which made him lame
And surely his was nothing worse
Than mine, since mine is just the same
Except his foot was lame you know
with me it was my poor old toe—
Tis natural that man should long
When parties, weddings, balls abound
To join in dance the giddy throng
when ere the dancing time comes round
But I can't dance or act the beau
Because 'twould kill my poor old toe
I cannot even walk with grace
With ladies fair, (oh sad misfortune)
In each and every time and place
My ill luck still does me importune
For I must limp and thereby show
The D—l is in my poor old toe
And now my friends Ive nearly done
This elegy upon my toe
I almost wish Id not begun
I almost wish Id not begun
But since tis write Ill let it go
And thus expose my poor old toe
But ere I ceace this plaintive strain
This sad momento of my evil
I'll tell you one and all quite plain
I wish my toe was at the devil
For now an everlasting foe
Attends me in my poor old toe—6