My eyes in slumber tightly close, Most welcome is the night's repose; No troubled thoughts my sleep condemn; And yet I hear the hum of 'M-- Mosquitoes.
Oft have my gluey eyelids blinked As that dread sound grows more distinct And bills are now presented, though 'Tis really but a grudge I O-- Mosquitoes.
Still as I try to calm my mind And to my fate grow more resigned, While scratching at the itchiness I grow as crooked as an S-- Mosquitoes.
Quiet the eventide may bring, As poets are inclined to sing, But not to suffering mortals, who Thus lie and yank their beds as Q-- Mosquitoes.
Unvisited by pleasant dreams, I lie and think; but as it seems, On nothing can I think so true As what I now present to U-- Mosquitoes.
Imagine, reader, if you can, The actions of a frantic man; And yet you may not need to try, For you may know as well as I-- Mosquitoes.
Then taking it for granted so, I need not any further go, But hope you in these verses see The scene depicted to a T-- Mosquitoes.
On bed of down a king may stretch His wearied limbs; poor luckless wretch, If scitters sing their tale of woe, He can but scratch and mutter O-- Mosquitoes.
Esconced beneath his counterpane, Still troubled is that monarch's reign, For tho' from skilled assassin free Some other pests are worse than 'E Mosquitoes.
Scarce are my themes, O baleful Muse, And scarce I can my talent use, For twisted thus in sore distress, The human frame becomes an S-- Mosquitoes.
Then, sinful men, put up a prayer, And I will help to rhyme it;If guilt should warrant change of air And in a hotter climate,Tho' of a warm reception sure, (Here all may lend their dittoes)Whatever pangs we there endure May there be no mosquitoes.
