Did not the tender nonfenfe ftrike,

Contempt and fcorn might look diflike,
Forbidding airs might thin the place,
The flightest flap a fly can chase.

But who can drive the num'rous breed?

Chafe one, another will fucceed.

Who knows a fool, must know his brother;

One fop will recommend another;

And with this plague fhe's rightly curft,

Because fhe liften'd to the first.

As Doris, at her toilette's duty,
Sate meditating on her beauty,

She now was penfive now was gay,
And loll'd the fultry hours away.

As thus in indolence she lyes,
A giddy Wafp around her flies,

He

He now advances, now retires,

Now to her neck and cheek afpires;
Her fan in vain defends her charms.

Swift he returns, again alarms,

For by repulse he bolder grew,

Perch'd on her lip and fipt the dew.

She frowns, the frets. Good Gods, fhe cries,

Protect me from these teazing flies!

Of all the plagues that heav'n hath fent
A Wafp is most impertinent.

The hov'ring infect thus complain’d.
Am I then flighted, fcorn'd, difdain'd?
Can fuch offence your anger wake?
'Twas beauty caus'd the bold mistake.
Those cherry lips that breathe perfume,
That cheek fo ripe with youthful bloom
Made me with ftrong defire purfue

The fairest peach that ever grew,

Strike him not, Jenny, Doris cries,
Nor murder Wafps, like vulgar flies,

For though he's free (to do him right)
The creature's civil and polite.

In ecftafies away he posts,

Where-e'er he came the favour boasts.

Brags how her sweetest tea he fips,

And fhews the fugar on his lips.

The hint alarm'd the forward crew.

Sure of fuccefs away they flew;

They share the dainties of the day,
Round her with airy mufick play,
And now they flutter, now they rest,
Now foar again, and skim her breast.

Nor were they banifh'd, 'till fhe found

That Wafps have stings, and felt the wound.

33

FABLE

I.Wootton inv.

P. Fourdrinier scul

FABLE IX.

The BULL and the MASTIFF.

EEK you to train your fav'rite boy?

Each caution, ev'ry care employ,

And ere you venture to confide,
Let his preceptor's heart be try'd;

Weigh well his manners, life, and scope,

On thefe depends thy future hope.

As on a time, in peaceful reign,

A Bull enjoy'd the flow'ry plain,

A Maftiff pass'd; inflam'd with ire,
His eye-balls shot indignant fire,

He foam'd, he rag'd with thirst of blood.
Spurning the ground the monarch stood,
And roar'd aloud. Sufpend the fight,
In a whole skin, go, fleep to-night;
Or tell me, ere the battle rage,
What wrongs provoke thee to engage?
Is it ambition fires thy breast,

Or avarice that ne'er can rest?

From these alone unjustly springs

The world-deftroying wrath of Kings.