« ПредишнаНапред »
A Wolf, with hunger fierce and bold,
The Sbepherd's Dog and the WOLF.
Ravag'd the plains, and thinn'd the fold : Deep in the wood secure he lay, The thefts of night regal'd the day. In vain the shepherd's wakeful care Had spread the toils and watch'd the snare : In vain the dog pursu'd his pace, The fleeter robber mock'd the chace.
As Lightfoot-rang'd the forest round, By chance his foe's retreat he found.
Let us a while the war suspend, And reason as from friend to friend.
A truce ? replies the Wolf. 'Tis done.
The dog the parley thus begun.
How can that strong intrepid mind
Attack a weak defenceless kind ?
Those jaws should prey on nobler food,
And drink the boar's and lion's blood.
Great souls with generous pity melt,
Which coward tyrants never felt.
How harmless is our fleecy care !
Be brave, and let thy mercy spare.
Friend, says the Wolf, the matter weigh;
Nature design'd us beasts of prey ;
As such, when hunger finds a treat,
'Tis necessary Wolves should eat.
If mindful of the bleating weal,
Thy bosom burn with real zeal ;
Hence, and thy tyrant lord beseech,
To him repeat the moving fpeech :
A Wolf eats sheep but now and then,
Ten thousands are devour'd by men.
may prove a curse, But a pretended friend is worse.
The PAINTER who pleased nobody and every body.
EST men suspect your tale untrue,
Keep probability in view.
The trav'ler, leaping o'er those bounds,
The credit of his book confounds.
Who with his tongue hath armies routed,
Makes ev'n his real courage
But flatt'ry never seems absurd ;
The flatter'd always take your word;
Impossibilities seem just;
They take the strongest praise on trust.
Hyperboles, tho' ne'er so great,
Will ftill come short of self-conceit.
So very like a Painter drew,
That ev'ry eye the picture knew ;
He hit complexion, feature, air,
So just the life itself was there,
No flatt'ry, with his colours laid,
To bloom restor'd the faded maid :
He gave each muscle all its strength;
The mouth, the chin, the nose's length,
His honeft pencil touch'd with truth,
And mark'd the date of
He loft his friends, his practice fail'd ;
Truth should not always be reveal'd;
In dusty piles his pictures lay,
For no one sent the second
Two bustos, fraught with ev'ry grace,
A Venus' and APOLLO's face,
He plac'd in view, resolv'd to please,
Whoever sat he drew from these,
From these corrected ev'ry feature,
And spirited each aukward creature.
All things were set ; the hour was come,
His pallet ready o'er his thumb,
My Lord appear'd, and feated right
In proper attitude and light,
The Painter look'd, he sketch'd the piece,
Then dipt his pencil, talk'd of Greece,
Of Titian's tints, of Guido's air ;
Those eyes, my Lord, the spirit there
Might well a Raphael's hand require,
To give them all the native fire;
The feature fraught with sense and wit,
You'll grant are very hard to hit ;
But yet with patience you fall view
As much as paint and art can do.
Observe the work. My Lord reply'd,
Till now I thought my mouth was wide ;
Besides, my nose, is somewhat long;
Dear Sir, for me, 'tis far too young.
Oh ! pardon me, the artist cry'd,
In this we painters must decide.
The piece ev'n common eyes must strike,
I warrant it extremely like.
My Lord examin'd it a-new ;
No looking-glass seem'd half so true.
A Lady came, with borrow'd grace
He from his Venus form'd her face.
Her lover prais'd the Painter's art ;
So like the pi&ture in his heart !
To ev'ry age some charm he lent;
Ev’n Beauties were almost content.
Through all the town his art they prais'd ;
His custom grew, his price was rais’d.
Had he the real likeness shown,
Would any man the picture own?
But when thus happily he wrought,
Each found the likeness in his thought.
coure it from the mean and base!
OW fond are men of rule and place,
Who court it from the
mean and base !
These cannot bear an equal nigh,
But from superior merit fly.
They love the cellar's vulgar joke,
istili And lofe their hours in ale and smoke.
There o'er some petty club.preside;.
So poor, so paltry is their pride!
Nay, ev'n with fools whole nights will fit,
In hopes to be fupreme in wit.
If these can read, to these I write, svit I
To set their worth in truest light.
A Lion-cub, of fordid mind,
Avoided all the lion kind;
Fond of applause, he fought the feasts s',
of vulgar and ignoble beasts;
With asses all his time he spent,
Their club's perpetual president.
He caught their manners, looks and airs :
An ass in every thing, but ears !
If e'er his highness meant a joke,
They grinn'd applause before he spoke ;
But at each word what shouts of praise !
Good gods! how natural he brays !