Into a Pigmy’s mouth, nine inches square.
Which straight, with melancholy mov’d,
Old Bembus Burgomaster of Pickt-hatch,
That plunging through the Sea of Turnbull street,
He safely did arrive at Smithfield Bars.
Then did the Turntripes on the Coast of France,
Catch fifteen hundred million grasshoppers,
With fourteen Spanish Needles, bumbasted,
Poach’d with the Eggs of fourscore Flanders Mares.
Mounted upon the foot of Caucasus,