Sir Argus seem’d charm’d, and shew’d great condescension,
Was all affability, grace, and attention:
Till growing impatient, without much preamble,
He eagerly mention’d the cause of his ramble.
But no information, alas! he receiv’d,
At which he was hurt, and the Nightingale griev’d;
[p13] But hop’d he wou’d be more successful ere long,
And propos’d, en attendant, to give him a song.
Delighted, he begg’d Philomel would proceed;
She complied; and ’twas something like singing, indeed.