Whose shape is like the crescent moon.
And now I have a little boat,
In shape a very crescent moon:—
Fast through the clouds my boat can sail,
But if perchance your faith should fail,
Look up—and you shall see me soon!
Lord Byron’s disgust is expressed in these lines:
Ravenna, 22 March, 1820.
Epilogue.
There’s something in a stupid ass;