Ægir! as in thy ocean: Odin too
In one small flint-drawn spark doth equal shine,
As when the sun’s vast orb he launch’d in ether blue!
“And Thor! when thou dost hurl thy lightning down,
What dost thou more than I do now, my son?”
Now Lok return’d with butter, salt, and eggs,
Proud of his robbery and nimble legs;
The weazles, foxes, rats, as he pass’d by,
Jump’d from their holes and thus began to squeal:
“Lo! there he goes, our god, so trippingly!