Pick’d up and brought it to her master’s hand,
Who seized it, and the mimic feature scann’d;
Yet not with the old loving ardent drouth,
He only saw in that fair face, so bland,
Look how he would at it, east, west, north, south.
A moon, a full one, with eyes, nose, and mouth.
“I’ll go to her,”—herewith his hat he touch’d,
And gave his arm a most heroic brandish;
“But no—I’ll write”—and here a spoon he clutch’d,
And ramm’d it with such fury in the standish,