A voice that once as tenor, might have won a slight repute,
But combination now of asthma, whooping cough, and flute.
I sauntered towards the orange tree, and lo! the gloaming thro'
I saw a man in trunk and hose, and silver buckled shoe,
With ruffles and embroidered vest, in wig without a hat,
Inclining to the contour, which is designated fat.
Just then the waxing moonlight bloomed behind, and lifed the stain
Of color thro' him, like a Saint upon a window pane,
I could not spare such noted chance; so stepping from the gloom,