The Blackbird, beside, rais’d a host of deriders,
For piling his plate up with dozens of spiders.
But the Pelican most was detested by all;
For the fish shovell’d into her pouch at a haul
Would have set up a moderate Fishmonger’s stall:
[22] ]Yet the herrings thus pack’d in her natural barrel
(’Twas this that provok’d all the clamour and quarrel)
She dreams not of eating—far less of digesting—
Till her leisure shall serve, while her babies are resting.
No Pelican’s perfect, I grant:—what of that?—