That vixen tongue of your's, my Dear, A Parrot's privilege forbidden ! You praife his talk, his fqualling fong; Now reputations flew in pieces 10 15 20 Of mothers, daughters, aunts, and nieces : She ran the Parrot's language o'er, Bawd, huffy, drunkard, flattern, whore; On all the fex fhe vents her fury, 25 Tries and condemns without a jury. At once the torrent of her words Alarm'd cat, monkey, dogs, and birds: Pufs fpits, the monkey chatters round her; 30 The yelping cur her heels affaults; The magpie blabs out all her faults; Poll, in the uproar, from his cage, 35 She who attacks another's honour, Draws every living thing upon her. Think, Madam, when you ftretch your lungs, The world with intereft pays the debt. 40 THE CUR AND THE MASTIFF. A SNEAKING Cur, the master's spy, Rewarded for his daily lye, With fecret jealoufies and fears Poor Pufs to-day was in difgrace, The Hound was beat, the Maftiff chid, A plan to rob the house was laid: 5 10 15 Swift ran the Cur; with indignation The Mafter took his information. "Hang him, the villain's curs'd," he cries And round his neck the halter ties. The Dog his humble fuit preferr'd, 20 And begg'd in juftice to be heard. The Mafter fate. On either hand 25 The Cur the bloody tale relates, Judge not unheard, the Mastiff cry'd, And you and me by turns betray." He spoke; and all the truth appear'd: The Cur was hang'd, the Mastiff clear'd. 30 35 THE SICK MAN AND THE ANGEL. 'S there no hope?" the fick man faid. "IS The filent Doctor fhook his head, And took his leave with figns of forrow, When thus the Man, with gafping breath; "I feel the chilling wound of Death. Since I must bid the world adieu, Is well increas'd. If, unawares, My will hath made the world amends; When I am number'd with the dead, And all my pious gifts are read, By heaven and earth 'twill then be known An Angel came. "Ah! Friend! he cry'd. 10 15 20 25 30 35 This inftant give a hundred pound; Your neighbours want, and you abound.” "But why fuch hafte, the fick Man whines; Who knows as yet what Heaven defigns? Perhaps I may recover ftill. That fum and more are in my will." "Fool, fays the Vifion, now 'tis plain Your life, your foul, your Heaven, was gain. By giving what is not your own." 40 45 "While there is life, there's hope, he 'cry'd; Then why fuch hafte ?" so groan'd, and 'dy'd. 5℗ THE PERSIAN, THE SUN, AND THE CLOUD. Is there a bard whom genius fires, Whose every thought the 'God inspires ? She frets, the rails, fhe raves, the pines ; و 10 As, |