3880Beating each bush, and in each cabin searching
To find his frank, and not the pheasants perching.
And as when Reynald, with his wily plot,
Into the squadron of the geese is crept,
And grandsire Gander on his back has got,
Th' affrighted geese, like them which watch-tow'rs kept,
With shrill-toned gabblings wake the slumb'ring towns,
By Phoebe's candle to go seek the downs—
Some arm themselves with spits, one with a ladle,
Some snatch up pickforks, one a bill or knife.