When the Quaker was vanished, no eye had seen where;
And the Scotchman thrown flat on his back, like a turtle,
Was sprawling and bawling, with heels in the air.
Little Cupid continued to hover and flutter,
Pursuing the fragments that floated on high,
As light as the fly that is christened from butter,
Till he gathered his hands full and flew to the sky.
'Oh, mother,' he cried, as he showed them to Venus,
'What are these little talismans cyphered—One—One?
If you think them worth having, we'll share them between us,