LXXV
“Just upon three o’clock, a falling star
Created an alarm among our troop,
Kill’d a man-cook, a page, and broke a jar,
A tureen, and three dishes, at one swoop,
Then passing by the Princess, singed her hoop:
Could not conceive what Coralline was at,
She clapp’d her hands three times, and cried out ‘Whoop!’
Some strange Imaian custom. A large bat
Came sudden ’fore my face, and brush’d against my hat.