Start nimbly forth, and bend
Before the monarch, at his gilded stool,
And crystal goblets brimming, sweet and cool,
Obsequiously extend;
But Nimrod, slightly stirring, stately, calm,
Towards the right-hand beaker thrusts his arm,
And, languid, raises it towards his lips;
Yet ere he of the ruby liquor sips,
He notices upon the surface lie—
Fallen in and fluttering—a feeble fly,