Who under him doth trample in the air,
And chafe, that any on his back should sit.
Spenser.
9. His waggish face, that speaks a soul jocose,
Seems t'have been cast i' the mould of fun and glee;
And on the bridge of his well-arched nose,
Sits laughter plumed, and white-wing'd jollity.
Tennent—Anster Fair.
10. The glow of temperance o'er his cheek is spread,
Where the soft down half veils the chasten'd red.