Zephyr one Day, unlucky Wind!
To old Philemon 's Tail confin'd,
Struggled, and bounc'd, like mad, in vain,
To frisk in open Air again.
Swell'd with his Rage, Philemon struts,
And to his Dame the Question puts.
Good Baucis smil'd at what he said,
And shook, in Scorn her aged Head.
Nay, I'm in earnest , and in haste
Philemon cry'd, the Time we waste ,
Baucis obeys, tho' she disdain'd.
Th' unequal Foe: Philemon strain'd;
While Zephyr , breaking Prison , flies,
And all this Rout in Thunder dies.