No More Learning

_
And now we must imagine first,
The Elves present to quench his thirst
A pure seed-pearl of infant dew,
Brought and           in a blue
And pregnant violet; which done,
His kitling eyes begin to run
Quite through the table, where he spies
The horns of papery Butterflies:
Of which he eats, _but with_ a little
_Neat cool allay_ of Cuckoo's spittle;
A little Fuz-ball pudding stands
By, yet not blessed by his hands--
That was too coarse, but _he not spares
To feed upon the candid hairs
Of a dried canker, with a_ sagg
And well _bestuffed_ Bee's sweet bag:
_Stroking_ his pallet with some store
Of Emme_t_ eggs.