Clasps, Celts, and Arrowheads, I’ll try
To claw within my Clutch,
And if a Shield I should espy,
I’ll vow there ne’er was such.
With Popish Tricks, and Relics rare,
The Priests their Flocks do gull
In casting out the earth take care,
Huzza! I’ve found a skull!
Ant.—That skull had a tongue in it and could sing once. How the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were a slave’s jaw-bone, or that of the first Murderer! That might be the pate of a Druid which this ass now o’erreaches: one that would gorge his Deities with human blood; might it not?
Dis.—It might.