To know that I have done him who thinks he's so 'cute
He ne'er can be baffled in any dispute?
O bravo, dear Fiction! you clever old girl,
Your banner with pleasure I'll ever unfurl,
And rejoice as a slave at your feet low to lie,
Till old Fate shall determine that Peter must die.
But just wait, let me see
Where my rod and line be.
Oh, there down midst the rushes they lie snug concealed.
But those ill-fated fish