IX.
Then strove their stag-eyed mother to calm down
This his paternal rage, and thus addrest;
"Oh! Most Serene! why dost thou stamp and frown,
And box the compass of the royal chest?"
"Ah! thou wilt mar that portly trunk, I own
I love to gaze on!—Pr'ythee, thou hadst best
Pocket thy fists. Nay, love, if you so thin
Your beard, you'll want a wig upon your chin!"
X.