LXXIII
“Five minutes before one—brought down a moth
With my new double-barrel—stew’d the thighs,
And made a very tolerable broth—
Princess turn’d dainty, to our great surprise,
Alter’d her mind, and thought it very nice:
Seeing her pleasant, tried her with a pun,
She frown’d; a monstrous owl across us flies
About this time,—a sad old figure of fun;
Bad omen—this new match can’t be a happy one.