Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/318

 180 ���THE POEMS OF ANNE ���The Mother-Owl was prol'd away, To seek abroad for needful Prey, And forth the Misses came to play. �What's here ! the hungry Monarch cry'd, 40 �When near him living Flesh he spy'd, With which he hop'd to be supply'd. �But recollecting, 'twas the Place, Where he'd so lately promis'd Grace To an enchanting, beauteous Race; �He paus'd a while, and kept his Maw, With sober Temperance, in awe, Till all their Lineaments he saw. �What are these Things, and of what Sex, 1 At length he cry'd, with Vultur's Becks, 60 �And Shoulders higher than their Necks? �These wear no Palatines, nor Muffs, Italian Silks, or Doyley Stuffs, But motley Callicoes, and Ruffs. �Nor Brightness in their Eyes is seen, But through the Film a dusky Green, And like old Margery is their Mien. �Then for my Supper they're designed, �Nor can be of that lovely Kind, �To whom my Pity was inclin'd. 60 �No more Delays; as soon as spoke, �The Plumes are stripped, the Grisles broke, �And near the Feeder was to choak. �When now return'd the grizly Dame, (Whose Family was out of Frame) Against League-Breakers does exclaim. ��� �