Date: 1880
82 JOHN MILTON.  And when they list their lean and flashy songs Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw, The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread ; Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw 125 Daily devours apace, and nothing said ; But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.  Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past, That shrunk thy streams ; return, Sicilian Muse, And call the vales, and bid them hither cast Their bells, and flow'rets of a thousand hues.