He charm'd wild beasts, but thou enchantest asses,
As in their stalls—places for donkeys fit—
With ears erect the dilettanti sit.
When hanging on the honey of thy lip,
Mellifluous harmony we seem to sip;
And, listening to the strain sent forth by thee,
A paradise the opera would be,
But for the little truth our purses teach,
That we are minus half a guinea each.
