When every creature he met on his way,
Could talk about nothing, both early and late,
But the Peacock’s most sumptuous, and elegant fête.
His name, through the woods as he wander’d along,
Was still made the burthen of every song.
[p5]
That the concert was exquisite, all were agreed,
And so were the ball, and the supper indeed,
The company too of the very first rank,
And the wit that prevail’d, and the toasts that were drank:
He found to his infinite rage and vexation,