That I’m hunted down, like a (Richard) Roe,
You’d not thus avert your eyes from me.
Oh never did giant look after Thumb
(When the latter was keeping out of the way)
With a more tremendous fee-fo-fum
Than I’m pursued by a dread fi-fa.
Too-whit! too-whit! is the owl’s sad song!
A writ! a writ! a writ! when mid the throng,
Is ringing in my ears the whole day long.
Ah me! night let it be: