Page:Hesperides Vol 1.djvu/333

His choice bits; with which in a trice
They make a feast less great than nice.
But all the while his eye was served
We dare not think his ear was sterved:
But that there was in place to stir
His fire the pittering Grasshopper;
The merry Cricket, puling Fly,
The piping Gnat for minstralcy.
The Humming Dor, the dying Swan,
And each a choice Musician.
And now we must imagine first,
The Elves present to quench his thirst
A pure seed-pearl of infant dew,
Brought and beswetted in a blue
And pregnant violet; which done,
His kitling eyes begin to run
Quite through the table, where he spies
The horns of papery Butterflies:
Of which he eats, but with a little
Neat cool allay of Cuckoo's spittle;
A little Fuz-ball pudding stands
By, yet not blessed by his hands—
That was too coarse, but he not spares
To feed upon the candid hairs
Of a dried canker, with a sagg
And well bestuffed Bee's sweet bag:
Stroking his pallet with some store
Of Emmet eggs. What would he more,
But Beards of Mice, an Ewt's stew'd thigh,
A pickled maggot and a dry
Hipp, with a Red cap worm, that's shut
Within the concave of a Nut