YOU fear, Ligurra — above all, you long —

That I should smite¹ you with a stinging song.

This dreadful honour you both fear and hope —

Both all in vain: you fall below my scope.

The Lybian lion tears the roaring bull,

He does not harm the midge along the pool.

Lo! if so close this stands in your regard,

From some blind tap fish forth² a drunken barn,

Who shall with charcoal³, on the privy⁴ wall,

Immortalise your name for once and all.

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