Though for one mortal, it is true,
These trades may both be fitted,
Yet, that the things themselves are two
Must always be admitted.
Once on a time there lived a cook
Whose skill was past disputing,
Who in his head a fancy took
To try his luck at shooting.
So, gun in hand, he sought a spot
Where stores of game were breeding,
And there ere long a cat he shot
That on young birds was feeding.
This cat he fancied was a hare,
Forming a judgment hasty,
So served it up for people's fare
Well spiced and in a pasty.
Yet many a guest with wrath was filled
(All who had noses tender):
The cat that's by the sportsman killed
No cook a hare can render.
JOY.
A dragon-fly with beauteous wing
Is hovering o'er a silvery spring;
I watch its motions with delight,—
Now dark its colours seem, now bright,
Chameleon-like appears now blue,
Now red, and now of greenish hue.
Would it would come still nearer me,
