She 'wings the midway air' elate,
As magpie, crow, or chough;
White paint her modish visage smears,
Yellow and pointed are her ears,
No pendant portico appears
Dangling beneath, for Whitbread's shears[36]
Have cut the bauble off.
Yes, she exalts her stately head;
And, but that solid bulk outspread
Opposed you on your onward tread,