With all the fury of a Cook,
Her cooler kitchen NAN forfook.
The broomstick o'er her head the waves ;
She fweats, fhe ftamps, the puffs, the raves.
The fneaking Cur before her flies :
She whistles, calls; fair speech she tries.
These nought avail. Her choler burns ;
The fift and cudgel threat by turns.
With hafty ftride she preffes near;
He flinks aloof, and howls with fear.
Was ever Cur fo curs'd? (he cry'd)
What ftar did at my birth prefide!
Am I for life by compact bound
To tread the wheel's eternal round?
Inglorious task! Of all our race
No flave is half fo mean and bafe.
Had fate a kinder lot affign'd,
And form'd me of the lap-dog kind,
I then, in higher life employ'd,
Had indolence and ease enjoy'd;
And, like a gentleman careft,
Had been the lady's fav'rite guest.
Or were I fprung from spaniel line,
Was his fagacious noftril mine,
By me, their never-erring guide,
From wood and plain their feasts supply'd,
Knights, 'fquires, attendant on my pace,
Had fhar'd the pleasures of the chace.
Endu'd with native ftrength and fire,
Why call'd I not the lion fire?
A lion! fuch mean views I fcorn.
Why was I not of woman born?
Who dares with reafon's pow'r contend?
On man we brutal flaves depend;
To him all creatures tribute pay,
And luxury employs his day.
An Ox by chance o'erheard his moan,
And thus rebuk d the lazy drone.
Dare you at partial fate repine?
How kind's your lot compar'd with mine!
Decreed to toil, the barb'rous knife
Hath fever'd me from focial life;
Urg'd by the ftimulating goad,
I drag the cumbrous waggon's load:
"Tis mine to tame the ftubborn plain,
Break the ftiff foil, and house the grain;'
Yet I without a murmur bear
The various labours of the year.
But then confider, that one day,
(Perhaps the hour's not far away)
You, by the duties of your poft,
Shall turn the spit when I'm the roaft;
And for reward fhall fhare the fealt,
I mean shall pick my bones at least.
Till now, the aftonish'd Cur replies,
I look'd on all with envious eyes.
How falfe we judge by what appears!
All creatures feel their fev'ral cares.
If thus yon mighty beaft complains,
Perhaps man knows fuperior pains.
Let envy then no more torment.
Think on the Ox, and learn content.
Thus faid; close following at her heel,
With chearful heart he mounts the wheel.
The RAVENS, the SEXTON, and the EARTH
AURA, methinks you're over-nice.
True. Flatt'ry is a fhocking vice;
Yet fure, whene'er the praise is just,
One may commend without difguft.
Am I a privilege deny'd,
Indulg'd by every tongue befide?
How fingular are all your ways!
A woman, and averse to praise !
If 'tis offence fuch truths to tell,
Why do your merits thus excel?
Since then I dare not fpeak my mind,
A truth confpicuous to mankind;
Though in full luftre ev'ry grace
Distinguish your celestial face;
Though beauties of inferior ray
(Like stars before the orb of day)
Turn pale and fade: I check my lays,
Admiring what I dare not praise.
If you the tribute due difdain,
'The mufe's mortifying strain
Shall, like a woman, in mere fpight
Set beauty in a moral light.
Though fuch revenge might fhock the ear
Of many a celebrated fair;
I mean that fuperficial race
Whose thoughts ne'er reach beyond their face; What's that to you? I but difplease
Such ever-girlish ears as thefe.
Virtue can brook the thoughts of age,
That lasts the fame through ev'ry stage.
Though you by time must suffer more
'Than ever woman loft before;
To age is fuch indiff'rence shown,
As if your face were not your own.
Were you by ANTONINUS taught?
Or is it native strength of thought,
That thus, without concern or fright,
You view yourself by reafon's light?
Thofe of fo divine a ray,
What are they? mould'ring, mortal clay.
Thofe features, caft in heav'nly mould,
Shall, like my coarfer earth, grow old;
Like common grafs, the fairest flow'r
Muft feel the hoary feafon's pow'r.
How weak, how vain is human pride!
Dares man upon himself confide ?
The wretch who glories in his gain,
Amaffes heaps on heaps in vain.
Why lose we life in anxious cares
To lay in hoards for future years ?
Can thofe (when tortur'd by disease)
Chear our fick heart, or purchase ease?
Can thofe prolong one gafp of breath,
Or calm the troubled hour of death?
What's beauty? Call ye that your own,
A flow'r that fades as foon as blown?
What's man in all his boast of sway?
Perhaps the tyrant of a day.
Alike the laws of life take place
'Through ev'ry branch of human race.
The monarch of long regal line
Was rais'd from duft as frail as mine.
Can he pour health into his veins,
Or cool the fever's reftlefs pains?
Can he (worn down in nature's course)
New-brace his feeble nerves with force?
Can he (how vain is mortal pow'r !)
Stretch life beyond the destin'd hour?
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