Tag, the Poet, heard all that had pass’d,
Found the Parson was winding his clock,
There lay he like a sheep when ’tis cast,
While with laughter his cradle did rock;
“Have you broke,” said he, “Smouchy, your bones?
“Do you oft get such damnable knocks?”
“No,” said Smouch, “but the case for my stones
“Is very much pruised by my pox.[3]”
When for room roar’d out Moses in vain,
All the family sham’d fast asleep,