LXXV

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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.