Thus while my joyleſs Hours I lingring spend,
With Looks demure, and ſilent pace a Dunn,
Horrible Monſter! hated by Gods and Men,
To my aerial Citadel ascends;
With Vocal Heel thrice Thund’ring at my Gates,
With hideous Accent thrice he calls; I know
The Voice ill boding, and the solemn Sound;
What should I do, or whither turn? amaz’d
Confounded, to the dark recess I fly
Of Woodhole; ſtreight my briſtling Hairs erect