And though the fog as thick did look
As a certain stupid quarto book,
One night I saw a vision fair,
Of knighthood's honours in the air;
And how, agog to reach my glory,
I hasten'd home to print my story;
And how I thought 'twould have been no blame
To have left behind the halt and lame,
Dead weights that, everybody knows,
Are only fit to feed the crows?