JACK.
Hist! That’s a pike. Look,—note against the river,
Gaunt as a wolf,—the sly old privateer,
Enter a gudgeon. Snap,—a gulp, a shiver;—
Exit the gudgeon. Let us anchor here.
FRANK. (In the grass.)
Jove, what a day! Black Care upon the crupper
Nods at his post, and slumbers in the sun,
Half of Theocritus, with a touch of Tupper
Churns in my head. The frenzy has begun.