HOMER in a Nutshell.
5
No sooner bouncing Bridget snoars in bed,
And dreams of Dalliances with Coachman Ned,
But up creeps Tit-mouse, ventures at a bite,
Disturbs imagin'd Sweets, and so good Night.
O cou'd I once from Kites and Cats be freed,
Vermin by Fate arm'd to destroy the Breed!
Cou'd I from that curs'd Fabrick be secure,
Dragg'd into which by some enchanting Lure,
Ourselves precipitate th' impending Snare,
And block up all Retreats but black Despair,
Confin'd above by stubborn Canopy,
Hew'n from the Trunk of the dread Thund'rer's Tree,
Champing in vain our Adamantine Grate,
As unrelenting as the force of Fate!
O! might I get these Grievances redrest,
No Polycrates cou'd be half so blest!
'Till then my want of Manners you'll excuse,
If such kind Invitations I refuse.
You much oblige me, Sir: But I profess
I ne'er lov'd Duckry nor your Water-cress.
And dreams of Dalliances with Coachman Ned,
But up creeps Tit-mouse, ventures at a bite,
Disturbs imagin'd Sweets, and so good Night.
O cou'd I once from Kites and Cats be freed,
Vermin by Fate arm'd to destroy the Breed!
Cou'd I from that curs'd Fabrick be secure,
Dragg'd into which by some enchanting Lure,
Ourselves precipitate th' impending Snare,
And block up all Retreats but black Despair,
Confin'd above by stubborn Canopy,
Hew'n from the Trunk of the dread Thund'rer's Tree,
Champing in vain our Adamantine Grate,
As unrelenting as the force of Fate!
O! might I get these Grievances redrest,
No Polycrates cou'd be half so blest!
'Till then my want of Manners you'll excuse,
If such kind Invitations I refuse.
You much oblige me, Sir: But I profess
I ne'er lov'd Duckry nor your Water-cress.
He say'd: The marshy Monarch grinning wide,
To his departing Stranger thus reply'd,
To his departing Stranger thus reply'd,
Yet stay, my Godlike Guest———
Let me for once your Majesty convince,
These Realms yield Belly-timber for a Prince.
On Dainties of the Garden or the Brook
We glut, and Nature our unerring Cook.
Let me for once your Majesty convince,
These Realms yield Belly-timber for a Prince.
On Dainties of the Garden or the Brook
We glut, and Nature our unerring Cook.
With
