A Soliloquy of the Full Moon, She Being in a Mad Passion

Now as Heaven is my Lot, they're the Pests of the Nation!     Wherever they can come     With clankum and blankum     'Tis all Botheration, & Hell & Damnation,     With fun, jeering     Conjuring     Sky-staring,     Loungering,     And still to the tune of Transmogrification,     Those muttering     Spluttering     Ventriloquogusty     Poets     With no Hats     Or Hats that are rusty.     They're my Torment and Curse     And harass me worse     And bait me and bay me, far sorer I vow     Than the Screech of the Owl     Or the witch-wolf's long howl,     Or sheep-killing Butcher-dog's inward Bow wow     For me they all spite, an unfortunate Wight.     And the very first moment that I came to Light     A Rascal call'd Voss the more to his scandal,     Turn'd me into a sickle with never a handle.     A Night or two after a worse Rogue there came,     The head of the Gang, one Wordsworth by name,     `Ho! What's in the wind?' 'Tis the voice of a Wizzard!     I saw him look at me most terribly blue!     He was hunting for witch-rhymes from great A to Izzard,     And soon as he'd found them made no more ado     But chang'd me at once to a little Canoe.     From this strange Enchantment uncharm'd by degrees     I began to take courage & hop'd for some Ease,     When one Coleridge, a Raff of the self-same Banditti     Past by, & intending no doubt to be witty,     Because I'd th' ill-fortune his taste to displease,     He turn'd up his nose,     And in pitiful Prose     Made me into the half of a small Cheshire Cheese.     Well, a night or two past - it was wind, rain & hail,     And I ventur'd abroad in a thick Cloak & veil,     But the very first Evening he saw me again     The last mentioned Ruffian popp'd out of his Den -     I was resting a moment on the bare edge of Naddle     I fancy the sight of me turn'd his Brains addle -     For what was I now?     A complete Barley-mow     And when I climb'd higher he made a long leg,     And chang'd me at once to an Ostrich's Egg -     But now Heaven be praised in contempt of the Loon,     I am I myself I, the jolly full Moon.     Yet my heart is still fluttering -     For I heard the Rogue muttering -     He was hulking and skulking at the skirt of a Wood     When lightly & brightly on tip-toe I stood     On the long level Line of a motionless Cloud     And ho! what a Skittle-ground! quoth he aloud     And wish'd from his heart nine Nine-pins to see     In brightness & size just proportion'd to me.     So I fear'd from my soul,     That he'd make me a Bowl,     But in spite of his spite     This was more than his might     And still Heaven be prais'd! in contempt of the Loon     I am I myself I, the jolly full Moon.