Away he fcours and lays about him,
Refolv'd no fray should be without him.
Forth from his yard a tanner flies,
And to the bold intruder cries.
A cudgel fhall correct your manners,
Whence sprung this cursed hate to tanners?
While on my dog you vent your spite,
Sirrah! 'tis me you dare not bite.
To fee the battle thus perplex'd,
With equal rage a butcher vex'd,
Hoarfe-fcreaming from the circled crowd,
To the curs'd Maftiff cries aloud.
Both Hockley-hole and Mary-bone
The combats of my Dog have known.
He ne'er, like bullies coward-hearted,
Attacks in public, to be parted,
Think not, rash fool, to fhare his fame:
Be his the honour or the fhame.
Thus faid, they fwore, and rav'd like thunder;
Then dragg'd their faften'd dogs afunder;
While clubs and kicks from every fide
Rebounded from the Maftiff's hide.
All reeking now with fweat and blood,
A while the parted warriors flood.
Then pour'd upon the meddling foe;
Who, worried, howl'd and sprawl'd below.
He rofe; and limping from the fray,
By both fides mangled, fneak'd away.
The BARLEY-Mow and the DUNGHILL.
HOW many faucy airs we meet
From Temple bar to Aldgate ftreet?
Proud rogues, who fhar'd the South-Sea prey,
And fprung like mushrooms in a day!
They think it mean, to condescend
To know a brother or a friend;
They blush to hear their mother's name,
And by their pride expofe their fhame.
As crofs his yard, at early day,
A careful farmer took his way,
He flopp'd, and leaning on his fork,
Obferv'd the flail's inceffant work.
In thought he meafur'd all his store,
His geefe, his bogs, he number'd o'er;
In fancy weigh'd the fleeces fhorn,
And multiply'd the next year's corn.
A Barley-mow, which ftood befide,
Thus to its mufing mafter cry'd.
Say, good Sir, is it fit or right
To treat me with neglect and flight?
Me, who contribute to your cheer,
And raise your mirth with ale and beer?
Why thus infulted, thus difgrac'd,
And that vile Dunghill near me plac'd ?
Are thofe poor sweepings of a groom,
That filthy fight, that naufeous fume,
Meet objects here? Command it hence:
A thing fo mean must give offence.
The humble Dunghill thus reply'd.
Thy mafter hears, and mocks thy pride
Infult not thus the meek and low;
In me thy benefactor know;
My warm affiftance gave thee birth,
Or thou hadft perish'd low in earth;
But upstarts, to fupport their station,
Cancel at once all obligation.
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 mifled him to a farm,
Where, on the ladder's topmoft round,
A peasant stood; the hammer's found
Shook the weak barn. Say, friend, what care
Calls for thy honeft 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 refufe fat the breed.
Friend, fays the Sage, the doom is wife;
For publick good the murd'rer dies.
But if thefe tyrants of the air
Demand a fentence fo fevere,
Think how the glutton man devours ;
What bloody feats 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 fov'reign lord.
Thus tyrants boast, the Sage reply'd,
Whofe murders fpring from power and pride.
Own then this manlike kite is flain
Thy greater lux'ry to sustain ;
Petty rogues fubmit to fate,
"That great ones may enjoy their state.”
• GARTH'S DISPENSARY.
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