In that coveted record, might not be o’erlooked.
Then the Bufftip[4] began to write each moth a card,
Having one for herself just by way of reward.
“First ask,” says the Emperor, “the Glory of Kent,[5]
On having much beauty my mind is quite bent;
[p8]
The Belle, too, of Brixton,[6] the Marvel du Jour,[7]
And the Peach-blossom[8] moth you’ll invite, I am sure;
The Sphinx[9] too, shall come, who makes riddles so well,
And the Gipsey[10] be ready our fortunes to tell;
[p9]
Mother Shipton[11] shall chap’rone the lovely Black I,[12]