Mr Flaxman

Impromptu on board of a Margate Packet

Breath softly, gentle zephyr,
And hush’d be ev’ry breeze!
Be still, ye waves beneath her
For Delia’s — going to sneeze!


The Apotheosis

Nine virgins tried to split a horse
Where rump and crapper ceases
The weapon slipt with might force
And broke their wit in pieces

They vow’d they’d place him ’mongst the stars
And make a wondrous glitter
But there no more of the horse is seen
Than you see of an apple fritter!