And took a pinch of snuff, to think
I flouted Don Giovanni!
“O, rich,” said I, “are Juan’s rhymes,
And warm the verse is flowing
Fair crops of blasphemy it bears,
But we will leave them growing.
In Pindar’s strain, in prose of Paine,
And many another Zany
As gross we read, so where’s the need
To wade through Don Giovanni?