Away he fcow'rs, affaults his hoof;
Now near him fnarls, now barks aloof;
With fhrill impertinence attends;
Nor leaves him till the village ends.
It chanc'd, upon his evil day,
A Pad came pacing down the way;
The Cur, with never-ceafing tongue,
Upon the paffing trav'ler fprung.
The Horse, from scorn provok'd to ire,
Flung backward; rolling in the mire,
The Puppy howl'd, and bleeding lay;
The Pad in peace purfu'd his way.
A Shepherd's Dog, who faw the deed,
Detesting the vexatious breed,
Bespoke him thus. When coxcombs prate,
They kindle wrath, contempt, or hate.
Thy teazing tongue had judgment ty'd,
Thou hadst not, like a Puppy, dy'd.
The COURT of DEATH.
DEATH, on a folemn night of state,
In all-his pomp of terror fate :
Th' attendants of his gloomy reign,
Diseases dire, a ghaftly train!
Crowd the vast Court. With hollow tone
A voice thus thunder'd from the throne.
This night our minister we name,
Let ev'ry fervant speak his claim :
Merit fhall bear this ebon wand.
All, at the word, ftretch'd forth their hand.
Fever, with burning heat poffeft,
Advanc'd, and for the wand addrest.
I to the weekly bills appeal,
Let those express my fervent zeal ;
On ev'ry flight occafion near,
With violence I perfevere.
Next Gout appears with limping pace,
Pleads how he shifts from place to place;
From head to foot how fwift he flies,
And ev'ry joint and finew plies,
Still working when he feems fuppreft,
A most tenacious stubborn guest.
A haggard Spectre from the crew
Crawls forth, and thus afferts his due.
"Tis I who taint the sweetest joy,
And in the shape of love destroy :
My shanks, funk eyes, and noseless face,
Prove my pretenfion to the place.
Stone urg'd his ever-growing force.
And, next, Confumption's meagre corse,
With feeble voice, that scarce was heard,
Broke with fhort coughs, his fuit preferr'd.
Let none object my ling'ring way,
I gain, like FABIUS, by delay;
Fatigue and weaken ev'ry foe
By long attack, fecure, though flow.
Plague reprefents his rapid power,
Who thinn'd a nation in an hour.
All spoke their claim, and hop'd the wand.
Now expectation hush'd the band,
When thus the Monarch from the throne:
Merit was ever modeft known.
What, no Phyfician speak his right!
None here but fees their toils requite,
Let then Intemp'rance take the wand,
Who fills with gold their zealous hand.
You, Fever, Gout, and all the reft,
(Whom wary men, as foes, deteft)
Forego your claim; no more pretend:
Intemp'rance is efteem'd a Friend;
He shares their mirth, their focial joys,
And, as a courted gueft, deftroys.
The charge on him muft juftly fall,
Who finds employment for you all.
The GARDENER and the HOG.
Gard'ner, of peculiar tafte,
On a young Hog his favour plac'd;
Who fed not with the common herd;
His tray was to the hall preferr❜d.
He wallow'd underneath the board,
Or in his master's chamber fnor'd;
Who fondly ftroak'd him ev'ry day,
And taught him all the puppy's play.
Where'er he went, the grunting friend
Ne'er fail'd his pleasure to attend.
As on a time, the loving pair
Walk'd forth to tend the garden's care,
The Mafter thus address'd the Swine.
My houfe, my garden, all is thine.
On turnips feaft whene'er you please,
And riot in my beans and peafe;
If the Potatoe's tafte delights,
Or the red carrot's fweet invites.
Indulge thy morn and evening hours,
But let due care regard my flowers;
My tulips are my garden's pride.
What vaft expence thofe beds fupply'd!
The Hog, by chance one morning roam'd,
Where with new ale the veffels foam'd.
He munches now the fteaming grains,
Now with full fwill the liquor drains.
Intoxicating fumes arife;
He reels, he rolls his winking eyes;
Then flagg'ring thro' the garden scowers,
And treads down painted ranks of flowers.
With delving fnout he turns the foil,
And cools his palate with the fpoil.
The mafter came, the ruin spy'd,
Villain fufpend thy rage, he cry'd.
Haft thou, thou moft ungrateful fot,
My charge, my only charge forgot?,
What, all my flowers! no more he said,
But gaz'd, and figh'd, and hung his head.
The Hog with ftutt'ring fpeech returns:
Explain, Sir, why your anger burns,
See there, untouch'd, your tulips ftrown!
For I devour'd the roots alone.
At this the Gard'ner's paffion grows;
From oaths and threats he fell to blows,
The ftubborn brute the blows fuftains;
Affaults his leg, and tears the veins.
Ah! foolish fwain, too late you find
That fties were for fuch friends defign'd!
Homeward he limps, with painful pace,
Reflecting thus on past disgrace.
Who cherishes a brutal mate,
Shall mourn the folly foon or late.
The MAN and the, FLEA.
Hether.on earth, in air, or main,
Sure ev'ry thing alive is vain!
Does not the hawk all fowls furvey,
As deftin'd only for his prey?
And do not tyrants, prouder things,
Think men were born for flaves to kings?
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