Classic Poem

IN TOM THUMB .

The younker, who his first essay
 Makes in the front of battle,
Stinds all aghaft, while cohorns play,
 And bullets round him rattle.
But pride steps in, and now no more
 Fell fear his jav'lin lances,
Like dulcet flutes the cannons roar,
 And groans turn country dances.

II.

So frights, and flurries, and what not,
 Upon my fancy rushes,
I fear I know not why or what,
 I'm cover'd o'er with blushes.
But let the honey season fly,
 To second well my clapper,
The kitchen's whole artillery
 Shall grace my husband's napper.