Here bursts the Goat into a laugh,
And thus beginning with a scoff:
“Doubtless,” said he, “it must be fine
T’exalt a nasty, dirty swine,
To such a height in fancying,
As to believe himself a King.
But that which thus perverts our senses
Can have, I think, but small pretences
To recommend it to our favour,
As pleasure of the truest flavour.