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Poem	He published his girl's bottom in staid pages of an old weekly. Where will next his rages ridiculous Henry land? Tranquil & chaste, de-hammocked, he descendedâ€” upon which note the fable should have endedâ€” towards the ground, and while fable wound itself upon him thick and coats upon his tongue formed, white, terrific: he stretched out still. Assembled bands to do obsequious music at hopeless noon. He bayed before he obeyed, doing at last their will. This seemed perhaps one of the best of dogs during his barking. Many thronged & lapped at his delicious stone. Cats to a distance keptâ€”one of their ownâ€” having in mind that down he lay & napped in the realm of whiskers & fogs.
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