More numerous subjects has my first,
Than any mortal king can boast,
And yet for more he’s still athirst
Till all the world compose his host.
My second, made with wondrous skill
Measures every live long day,
He bears a face and two thin hands,
That chase but never catch its prey.
When fear with superstition’s joined
My fancied whole my first foretells,
And thus the enfeebled sick man’s mind
To dread it constantly impels.