Classic Poem

The first course thus serv'd in, next follow'd on
The fairy nobles, ushering Oberon,
Their mighty king, a prince of subtle pow'r,
Clad in a suit of speckled gilliflow'r.
His hat by some choice master in the trade
Was (like a helmet) of a lily made.
His ruff a daisy was, so neatly trim,
As if of purpose it had grown for him.
His points were of the lady-grass, in streaks,
And all were tagg'd, as fit, with titmouse beaks.
His girdle, not three times as broad as thin,
Was of a little trout's self-spangled skin.
His boots, for he was booted at that tide,
Were fitly made of half a squirrel's hide.
His cloak was of the velvet flow'rs, and lin'd
With flow'r-de-luces of the choicest kind.
Down sat the king; his nobles did attend;
And after some repast he 'gan commend
Their hawks and sport. This in a brave place flew:
That bird too soon was taken from the mew:
This came well through the fowl, and quick again
Made a brave point straight up upon her train.
Another for a driver none came nigh;
And such a hawk truss'd well the butterfly.
That was the quarry which their pastime crown'd;
Their hawks were wagtails, most of them mew'd round.
Then of their coursers' speed, sure-footing pace,
Their next discourse was; as that famous race,
Engender'd by the wind, could not compare
With theirs, no more than could a Flemish mare
With those fleet steeds that are so quickly hurl'd,
And make but one day's journey round the world,
Nay, in their praises, some one durst to run
So far to say, that if the glorious sun
Should lame a horse, he must come from the spheres
And furnish up his team with one of theirs.
Those that did hear them vaunt their excellence
Beyond all value with such confidence,
Stood wond'ring how so little elfs as these
Durst venture on so great hyperboles;
But more upon such horses. But it ceas'd
(I mean the wonder) when each nam'd his beast.
My nimble squirrel, quoth the king, and then
Pinching his hat, is but a minute's ken.
The earth ran speedy from him, and I dare
Say, if it have a motion circular,
I could have run it round ere she had done
The half of her circumvolution.
Her motion, lik'd with mine, should almost be
As Saturn's, mine the primum mobile.
Then, looking on the fairies most accounted,
I grant, quoth he, some others were well mounted,
And praise your choice; I do acknowledge that
Your weasel ran well too; so did your rat;
And were his tail cut shorter to the fashion,
You in his speed would find an alteration.
Another's stoat had pass'd the swiftest tegs,
If somewhat sooner he had found his legs;
His hare was winded well; so had indeed
Another's rabbit tolerable speed.
Your cat (quoth he) would many a courser baffle;
But sure he reins not half well in a snaffle.
I know her well; 'twas Tybert that begat her,
But she is flew, and never will be fatter:
The vare was lastly prais'd, and all the kind,
But on their pasterns they went weak behind.
What brave discourse was this! now tell me, you
That talk of kings and states, and what they do;
Or gravely silent with a Cato's face,
Chew ignorance until the later grace;
Or such, who (with discretion then at jar)
Dare check brave Grenville and such sons of war,
With whom they durst as soon have measur'd swords,

(Howe'er their pens fight or wine-prompted words)
As not have left him all with blood besmear'd,
Or ta'en an angry lion by the beard.
Forbear that honour'd name! you, that in spite
Take pains to censure, more than he to fight,
Trample not on the dead! those wrongly lay
The not-success, who sconest ran away.
Kill not again whom Spain would have repriev'd!
Had ten of you been Grenvilles, he had liv'd.
Were it not better that you did apply
Your meat, unlaugh'd at of the standers-by?
Or (like the fairy king) talk of your horse,
Or such as you, for want of something worse.
Let that dear name for ever sacred be:
Caesar had enemies, and so had he;
But Grenville did that Roman's fate transcend,
And fought an enemy into a friend.
Thus with small things I do compose the great.
Now comes the king of fairies' second meat;
The first dish was a small spawn'd fish and fried,
Had it been lesser, it had not been spied;
The next, a dozen larded mites; the third,
A goodly pie fill'd with a lady-bird.
Two roasted flies, then of a dace the poll,
And of a miller's thumb a mighty joll;
A butterfly which they had kill'd that day,
A brace of fern-webs pickled the last May.
A well-fed hornet taken from the souse,
A lark's tongue dried, to make him to carouse.