It may be so, said planet Mars,
To Jupiter, his king, sir,
For I’ve been in the milky way,
And Saturn’s filthy ring, sir.
This Comet crop’d hangs o’er our heads,
I wish he’d travel faster,
For in his course eccentrical,
He dealeth dire disaster;
Pale Luna’s got the clap of him,
Bright Sol’s reflecting mopsey,