70 
DAt S Y. 
As is the humour of the game, 
While I am gazing. 
A Nun demure, of lowly port ;• 
Or sprightly Maiden, of Love’s Court, 
In thy simplicity the sport 
Of all temptations; 
A Queen in crown of rubies drest; 
A Starveling in a scanty vest; 
Are all, as seems to suit thee best, 
Thy appellations. 
A little Cyclops, with one eye 
Staring to threaten and defy, 
That thought comes next — and instaatly 
The freak is over, 
The shape will vanish, and behoia 
A silver Shield with boss of gold, 
That spreads itself, some Faery bold 
In fight to cover! 
I see thee glittering from afar; —• ^ 
And then thou art a pretty Star 
Not quite so fair as many are 
In heaven above thee! 
Yet like a star, with glittering crest, 
Self-poised in air thou seem’st to rest ,•***■ 
May peace come never to his nest, 
Who shall reprove thee! 
