Fives moons revolv’d, and one revolving then,
Transported Arnold o’er the refluent main.
At home, and safely housed at Rollingate,
(Install’d dictator of his own estate,)
He plann’d the journey to that sylvan bow’r
Where stood the cot, and urg’d his anxious tour:
Consider’d well the steps that he should take,
And how t’approach the little shingle-gate,
O’er-arch’d with honeysuckle in full bloom,
Which form’d the portal to that humble home.