“Fool that I was to let a baby face—
A full one—like a hunter’s—round and red—
Ass that I am, to give her more a place
Within this heart”—and here he struck his head.
“’Sdeath are the Almanack-compilers dead?
But no—’tis all an artifice—a trick,
Some newer face—some dandy under-bred—
Well—be it so—of all the sex I’m sick!”
Here Juno wonder’d why she got a kick.
“‘The moon is full’—where’s her infernal scrawl?