By Jove, you’ll be fleec’d to your skin.
Fable XXV.
The Blackbird and Bullfinch.
Perch’d on a poplar’s verdant spray,
A Blackbird sung the hours away;
Charm’d all around, and seem’d to call
On echo from his Lordship’s hall.
Confin’d in state a Bullfinch there,
The melting music chanc’d to hear—