66 Quo non præftantior alter
"Ære ciere viros, Martemque accendere cantu."
A Party of huffars of late
For prog and plunder fcour'd the plains,
Some French Gens d'Armes furpriz'd, and beat,
And brought their trumpeter in chains.
In doleful plight, th' unhappy bard
For quarter begg'd on bended knee,
Pity, Meffieurs! In truth 'tis hard
To kill a harmless enemy.
These hands, of slaughter innocent,
Ne'er brandish'd the deftructive fword,
To you or yours no hurt I meant,
O take a poor musician's word.
But the ftern foe, with generous rage,
Scoundrel! reply'd, Thou first shalt die,
Who, urging others to engage,
From fame and danger bafely fly.
The brave by law of arms we spare,
Thou by the hangman fhalt expire;
'Tis juft, and not at all fevere,
To ftop the breath that blew the fire.
The Bald-pated WELSHMAN, and the FLY.
"Infectum volet effe, dolor quod fuaferit & mens, "Dum pœnas odio per vim feftinat inulto." HOR
A Squire of Wales, whose blood ran higher
Than that of any other squire,
Hafty and hot; whofe peevith honour
Reveng'd each flight was put upon her,
Upon a mountain's top one day
Expos'd to Sol's meridian ray;
He fum'd, he rav'd, he curs'd, he swore,
Exhal'd a fea at every pore:
At laft, fuch infults to evade,
Sought the next tree's protecting shade;
Where, as he lay diffolv'd in sweat,
And wip'd off many a rivulet,
Off in a pet the beaver flies,
And flaxen wig, time's best disguise,
By which, folks of maturer ages
Vie with smooth beaux, and ladies
Though 'twas a fecret rarely known,
Ill-natur'd age had cropt his crown,
Grubb'd all the covert up, and now
A large smooth plain extends his brow.
Thus as he lay with numfkul bare,
And courted the refreshing air,
New perfecutions still appear,
A noify fly offends his ear.
Alas! what man of parts and sense
Could bear fuch vile impertinence?
Yet fo difcourteous is our fate,
Fools always buz about the great.
This infect now, whose active spight,
Teaz'd him with never-ceafing bite,
With fo much judgement play'd his part,
He had him both in tierce and quart:
In vain with open hands he tries,
To guard his ears, his nose, his eyes;
For now at laft, familiar grown,
He perch'd upon his worship's crown,
With teeth and claws his fkin he tore,
And stuff'd himself with human gore.
At last, in manners to excel,
Untrufs'd a point, fome authors tell.
But now what rhetorick could affuage
The furious squire, stark mad with rage?
Impatient at the foul disgrace,
From infect of fo mean a race;
And plotting vengeance on his foe,
With double fift he aims a blow:
The nimble fly escap'd by flight,
And skip'd from this unequal fight.
Th' impending stroke with all its weight
Fell on his own beloved pate.
Thus much he gain'd by this adventurous deed,
He foul'd his fingers, and he broke his head.
Let fenates hence learn to preserve their state,
And fcorn the fool, below their grave debate,
Who by th' unequal ftrife grows popular and great.
Let him buz on, with fenfelefs rant defy
The wife, the good; yet ftill 'tis but a fly.
With puny foes the toil 's not worth the coft,
Where nothing can be gain'd, much may be lost ;
Let cranes and pigmies in mock-war engage,
A prey beneath the generous eagle's rage.
True honour o'er the clouds fublimely wings;
Young Ammon fcorns to run with less than kings.
86 Quem res plus nimio delectavêre fecundæ, "Mutatæ quatient."
HE careful ant that meanly fares,
And labours hardly to supply,
With wholefome cates and homely tares,
His numerous working family;
Upon a vifit met one day
His coufin fly, in all his pride,
A courtier infolent and gay,
By Goody Maggot near ally'd:
The humble infect humbly bow'd,
And all his lowest congees paid,
Of an alliance wondrous proud
To fuch a huffing tearing blade.
The haughty fly look ́d big, and swore
He knew him not, nor whence he came;
Huff'd much, and with impatience bore
Thé fcandal of fo mean a claim.
Friend Clodpate, know, 'tis not the mode
At court, to own fuch clowns as thee,
Nor is it civil to intrude
On flies of rank and quality.
I-who, in joy and indolence,
Converse with monarchs and grandees, Regaling every nicer sense
With olios, foups, and fricassees ;
Who kifs each beauty's balmy lip,
Or gently buz into her ear,
About her fnowy bofom skip,
And fometimes creep the Lord knows where !
The ant, who could no longer bear
His coufin's infolence and pride,
Tofs'd up his head, and with an air
Of conscious worth, he thus reply'd :
Vain infect! know, the time will come,
When the court-fun no more fhall fhine,
When frofts thy gaudy limbs benumb,
And damps about thy wings fhall twine;
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