’Mid the groceries you’ll find him;
His biscuit-box he has girded on,
And his jam-pot’s slung behind him.
His parcels of goods he can scarce convey,
All the brushes and soap he’s dropping;
And he staggers about in a senseless way
’Neath the weight of his various shopping.
“Here economy reigns,” said the noble bard,
“And it gladdens my heart to view it;
A flea I’d skin for the worth of its lard,