Had butcher’d been for Lucy’s dish soon after it was born;
‘I know ’tis right!’ exclaimed the dam, ‘my child should form a feast,
But what I most complain of is, that beast should dine off beast!’
“And still the creature mourn’d its fate, and how it came to pass
That Lucy here a scarecrow is, in London town an ass![[1]]
And ended still its sad complaints with offers of its life,
twenty hundred times exclaimed, ‘Oh! haven’t you a knife?’
“There’s brawny limbs in Stratford town, there’s hearts without a fear,
There’s tender souls who really have compassion on a deer;
And last night was without a moon, a night of nights to give