And sent abroad his unmistaken thrill.
That honor’d oak bore up a motley throng
Of feathery warblers, lively with their song;
Beneath the tree the chickens ’wait the hour,
Then rush like steeple-chasers to the door:
And, helter-skelter, forth the bristled beast
With usual manners begg’d their usual feast:
(Could they have known their mistress sigh’d and cried,
No doubt the cloven group would have denied
Themselves one meal at least; and would have mourn’d