The soldier with his Morglay watched the mill;
40The cats they came to feast, when lusty Will
Whips off great puss's leg which (by some charm)
Proves the next day such an old woman's arm.
'Tis so with him whose carcass never 'scapes,
But still we slash him in a thousand shapes.
Our serving-men (like spaniels) range to spring
The fowl which he had clucked under his wing.
Should he on widgeon or on woodcock feed
It were, Thyestes like, on his own breed.