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Tixall Poetry.
About the moone we make a ring,
And falling stars we wanton fling
Like squibbs and rocketts, for a toy,
While what frights others is our joy.
But when wee would hunt away our cares,
Wee boldly mount the galloping spheares;
And riding so from east to west,
Wee chace each nimble zodiac beast.
Thus, giddy growen, wee make our beds,
With thick black clouds to rest our heads,
And flood the earth with our darke showers,
That did but sprinkle these our bowers.
Thus having done with orbs and sky,
Those mighty spaces vast and high,
Then downe we come, and take the shapes,
Sometimes of cats, sometimes of apes.
Next turn'd to mites in cheese, forsooth,
Wee gett into some hollow tooth,
