 | Peter Faultless to his brother Simon
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XI.
Then, deeply skill'd in Ford and Quarles,
Up rose the village Homer, Charles,
A wight uncouth, unshav'd, unclean,
In stature tall, of visage mean,
To sing, or say, and sans persuasion,
His poem, written for th' occasion.
Contempt rode in his half shut eye,
And, on his curl'd lip, vanity;
While, from the depth of lungs up drawn,
Preluding to his song, a yawn,
From mouth to mouth, with solemn boom,
Went in procession round the room.
| Peter Faultless to his brother Simon
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