His mistress eating a black pudden;
And when imprisoned air escaped her,
It puffed him with poetic rapture.
A carman’s horse could not pass by,
But stood tied up to poesy:
No porter’s burthen passed along
But served for burthen to his song.—Hudibrass.
Qui capit, ille facit.
Repress your fury, sage Divine!
Perdition breathes in every line.