Classic Poem

WIT was a strange unlucky child,
Exceeding sly, and very wild;
Too volatile for truth or law,
He minded but his top or taw;
And, ere he reached the age of six,
Had played a thousand waggish tricks—
He drilled a hole in Vulcan's kettles,
He strewed Minerva's bed with nettles,
Climbed up the solar car to ride in't,
Broke off a prong from Neptune's trident,
Stole Amphitrite's favourite sea-knot,
And urined in Astrea's teapot.