His train now again poor Sir Argus tormented,
And the loss of some feathers cou’d not be prevented:
The Parrot was ruffled, and torn, and distrest,
But still, curiosity reign’d in his breast:
This, this was the spur that our Travellers sped,
And urg’d them both onward, tho’ almost half dead.
At length, to their joy, at no very late hour,
They reach’d the Owl’s residence, Ivy-clad-Tower.
But what were their feelings, when after such rambling,
They still must encounter fresh clawing and scrambling?