Deceit so angel-like?” With sudden rip
He tore six new buff buttons from his vest
And groped with hand impetuous at his breast,
As if some flea from Juno’s fleecy curls
Had skipp’d to batten on a human chest,
But no—the hand comes forth, and down it hurls
A lady’s miniature beset with pearls.
Yet long upon the floor it did not tarry,
Before another outrage could be plann’d:
Poor Juno, who had learn’d to fetch and carry,