At the classical Eustace, and says he romances.
—Pray describe me from Venice, (don’t think it a bore,)
The literal state of the famed Bucentaur,
And whether the horses, that once were the sun’s,
Are of bright yellow brass, or of dark dingy bronze;
For some travellers say one thing, and some say another,
And I can’t find out which, they all make such a pother.
Oh! another thing, too, which I’d nearly forgot,
Are the songs of the gondoliers pleasing or not?
These are matters of moment, you’ll surely allow,