On Homer’s pinions mounting high,
I’ll drink Pierian puddle dry.[3]
Beddoes (bless the good doctor) has
Sent me a bag full of his gas,[4]
Which snuffed the nose up, makes wit brighter,
And eke a dunce an airy writer.
With this a brother bard, inflated,
Was so stupendously elated,
He tower’d, like Garnerin’s balloon,
Nor stopp’d, like half wits, at the moon: