Holding a chicken upside down by its legs,
I douse the creature in a batter of flour, eggs, and milk;
the concoction sitting in a silver vat
in the middle of a dilapidated warehouse.
...
Split the Lark—and you'll find the Music—
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled—
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.