The Spleen. in Four Cantos. Canto II

Seven cities once, like fools, 'tis said, For Homer, went to loggerhead; Each boasting him her own. Less quarrelsome than those of Greece, Italia's towns are all at peace; Our bardling's birth-place known;

Hail, FLORENCE! foul as thou art fair! Thine was our Hero's native air; Thanks to that midwife, SPLEEN! Who now, to make the matter worse, Resolves to be the bantling's nurse; A woeful nurse, I ween!

For ah! in vain the puny thing Attempted nourishment to wring From out her flabby udder: For lank her long dugs, hanging down, Seem'd as if suck'd by half the town; Enough to make one shudder!

When FOLLY, fearing lest her child, For lack of bubby, should be spoil'd, Bethought her of the story, How Romulus, with Ree his brother, A she-wolf had, for foster-mother; Whence sprung the Roman glory!

The country search'd in vain around, No new-milch wols-dug could be found. Alas, the sad disaster! When SPLEEN proposed, as still more fitting, Her tabby cat should wean her kitten, And suckle little master.

This done, 'tis said, tho strange to tell, Cat's milk agreed with him so well (Congenial humours meeting) The puling thing began to mew, And frisk and play, as kittens do, Mamma and Midwife greeting.

FOLLY and SPLEEN, now saw, with joy, Their scratching cat-o'barnet boy, Its wet-nurse taking after. So playful was the pretty fellow, As e'en to rival Punchinello; The Macaroon of laughter!

They, therefore, thought it now high time To change the country and the clime, And hie for England, over. Hence, tripping back again through France, They struck up a cotillon dance, And soon arrived at Dover.

Most opportune, the little ape. Thus made his fortunate escape. His dry-nurse, an Italian, Having (to make him sing) begun To work on FOLLY'S favourite son, And spoil him for a stallion.

Half-made, half-marr'd, the surgeons say, The ridgil thus was brought away.— Mark but that look of his; That half a smile, that half a grin, Speaking the eunuch-soul within, His feeble-featur'd phiz!

At Britain's Genius spit her spite, SPLEEN now maintain'd the filial right Of this, her favourite kitling; Presented him to's father, WIT, Who, in a gay, good-natur'd fit, Half own'd th' exotic WITLING.