PYTHAGORAS and the COUNTRYMAN.
YTHAG'RAS rofe at early dawn,
By foaring meditation drawn,
To breathe the fragrance of the day,
Through flow'ry fields he took his way.
In mufing contemplation warm,
His fteps misled him to a farm,
Where, on the ladder's topmost round,
A Peafant ftood; the hammer's found
Shook the weak barn. Say, friend, what care
Calls for thy honest labour there?
The Clown with furly voice replies,
Vengeance aloud for juftice cries.
This kite, by daily rapine fed,
My hens annoy, my turkeys dread,
At length his forfeit life hath paid;
See, on the wall his wings display'd,
Here nail'd, a terror to his kind,
My fowls fhall future fafety find;
My yard the thriving poultry feed,
And my barn's refuse fat the breed.
Friend, fays the Sage, the doom is wife; For publick good the murd'rer dies.
But if these tyrants of the air
Demand a sentence fo fevere,
Think how the glutton-man devours,
What bloody feafts regale his hours!
O impudence of power and might,
Thus to condemn a hawk or kite,
When thou perhaps, carniv'rous finner,
Hadft pullets yesterday for dinner!
Hold, cry'd the Clown, with paffion heated,
Shall kites and men alike be treated?
When heav'n the world with creatures ftor'd,
Man was ordain'd their fovereign lord.
Thus tyrants boaft, the Sage reply'd, Whofe murders spring from power and pride. Own then this manlike kite is flain
Thy greater lux'ry to fuftain:
Petty rogues fubmit to fate,
"That great ones may enjoy their state."
The FARMER'S WIFE and the RAVEN.
7HY are thofe tears? why droops your head?
Is then your other husband dead?
Or does a worse disgrace betide ?
Hath no one fince his death apply'd?
Alas! you know the caufe too well?
The falt is fpilt, to me it fell.
* GARTH'S DISPENSARY.
Then to contribute to my lofs,
My knife and fork were laid across;
On Friday too! the day I dread!
Would I were safe at home in bed!
Laft night (I vow to heav'n 'tis true)
Bounce from the fire a coffin flew.
Next poft fome fatal news fhall tell.
God fend my Cornish friends be well!
Unhappy widow, ceafe thy tears,
Nor feel affliction in thy fears.
Let not thy ftomach be fufpended;
Eat now, and weep when dinner's ended;
And when the butler clears the table,
For thy defert I'll read my fable.
Betwixt her swagging pannier's load
A farmer's wife to market rode,
And, jogging on, with thoughtful care
Summ'd up the profits of her ware;
When, starting from her filver dream,
Thus far and wide was heard her scream,
That raven on yon left-hand oak
(Curfe on his ill-betiding croak)
Bodes me no good. No more fhe faid,
When poor blind Ball, with ftumbling tread,
Fell prone; o'erturn'd the pannier lay,
And her mash'd eggs bestrow'd the way.
D5
She, fprawling in the yellow road,
Rail'd, fwore and curs'd. Thou croaking toad,
A murrain take thy whoreson throat!
I knew misfortune in the note.
Dame, quoth the Raven, fpare your oaths,
Unclench your fift, and wipe your cloaths.
But why on me thofe curfes thrown?
Goody, the fault was all your own;
For had you laid this brittle ware
On Dun, the old fure-footed mare,
Though all the ravens of the hundred,
With croaking had your tongue out-thunder'd,
Sure-footed Dun had kept her legs,
And you, good woman, fav'd your eggs
The TURKEY and the ANT.
N other men we faults can spy,
And blame the mote that dim's their eye,
Each little speck and blemish find,
To our own stronger errors blind.
A Turkey, tir'd of common food,
Forfook the barn, and fought the wood;
Behind her ran an infant train,
Collecting here and there a grain.
Draw near, my birds, the mother cries,
This hill delicious fare fupplies;
Behold, the bufy Negro race,
See, millions blacken all the place!
Like me with freedom eat;
An Ant is moft delightful meat.
How blefs'd, how envy'd were our life,
Could we but 'fcape the poult'rer's knife!
But man, curs'd man, on turkeys preys,
And Christmas fhortens all our days:
Sometimes with oifters we combine,
Sometimes affift the fav'ry chine.
From the low peasant to the lord,
The Turkey smokes on ev'ry board.
Sure men for gluttony are curs'd,
Of the fev'n deadly fins the worst.
An Ant, who clim'd beyond his reach,
Thus answer'd from the neighb'ring beech.
Ere you remark another's fin,
Bid thy own confcience look within ;
Controul thy more voracious bill,
Nor for a breakfast nations kill.
The FATHER and JUPITER.
HE Man to Jove his fuit preferr'd;
THe begged a wife. His prayer was heard.
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