When peace of conscience is no more.
Does not the Hound betray our pace?

And gins and guns destroy our race?
Thieves dread the searching eye of pow'r,

And never feel the quiet hour.

Old age, which few of us shall know,

Now puts a period to my woe.
Would you true happiness attain,

Let honesty your passions rein:

So live in credit and esteem,

And the good name you lost, redeem.
The counsel's good, a Fox replies,
Could we perform what you advise.
Think what our ancestors have done;

A line of thieves from son to son:

To us descends the long disgrace,

And infamy hath mark'd our race.

Though we, like harmless sheep, should feed Honest in thought, in word, and deed; Whatever henroost is decreas'd,

We shall be thought to share the feast.

The SETTING DOG and the PARTRIDGE.

THE ranging Dog the stubble tries,
And searches ev'ry breeze that flies:
The scent grows warm; with cautious fear
He creeps, and points the covey near:
The men, in silence, far behind,

Conscious of game, the net unbind.

A Partridge, with experience wise,
The fraudful preparation spies :

She mocks their toils, alarms her brood;
The covey springs, and seeks the wood;
But ere her certain wing she tries,
Thus to the creeping Spaniel cries:

Thou fawning slave to man's deceit,
Thou pimp of luxury, sneaking cheat,
Of thy whole species thou disgrace,
Dogs should disown thee of their race!
For if I judge their native parts,
They're born with honest, open hearts;
And, ere they serv'd man's wicked ends,
Were gen'rous foes, or real friends.