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They play the bear's and fox's part,
Now rob by force, now steal with art.
They sometimes in the senate bray,
Or, chang'd again to beasts of prey,
Down from the lion to the ape,
Practise the frauds of every shape.
So said: upon the god he flies,
In cords the struggling captive ties.
'Now, Proteus! now (to truth compell'd)
Speak, and confess thy art excell❜d.
Use strength, surprise, or what you will,
The Courtier finds evasions still;

Not to be bound by any ties,
And never forc'd to leave his lies.'

THE MASTIFFS.

THOSE Who in quarrels interpose,
Must often wipe a bloody nose.

A Mastiff, of true English blood,
Lov'd fighting better than his food.
When dogs were snarling for a bone,
He long'd to make the war his own,
And often found (when two contend)
To interpose obtain'd his end;
He gloried in his limping pace;
The scars of honour seam'd his face;
In every limb a gash appears,
And frequent fights retrench'd his ears.
As on a time he heard from far
Two dogs engag'd in noisy war,
Away he scours, and lays about him,
Resolv'd no fray should be without him.

Forth from his yard a tanner flies,

And to the bold intruder cries,

'A cudgel shall 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 see the battle thus perplex'd,
With equal rage a butcher vex'd,
Hoarse-screaming from the circled crowd,
To the curs'd Mastiff 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 share his fame;
Be his the honour or the shame.'

Thus said, they swore, and rav'd like thunder,
Then dragg'd their fasten'd dogs asunder;
While clubs and kicks from every side
Rebounded from the Mastiff's hide.

All reeking now with sweat and blood,
A while the parted warriors stood,
Then pour'd upon the meddling foe,
Who, worried, howl'd, and sprawl'd below.
He rose; and, limping from the fray,
By both sides mangled, sneak'd away.

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THE

BARLEY-MOW AND THE DUNGHILL.

How many saucy airs we meet

From Temple Bar to Aldgate Street!
Proud rogues, who shar'd the South-sea prey,
And sprung 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 expose their shame.
As cross his yard, at early day,
A careful farmer took his way,
He stopp'd, and leaning on his fork,
Observ'd the flail's incessant work.
In thought he measur'd all his store,
His geese, his hogs, he number'd o'er;
In fancy weigh'd the fleeces shorn,
And multiplied the next year's corn.
A Barley-mow, which stood beside,
Thus to its musing master cry'd:

Say, good Sir, is it fit or right

To treat me with neglect and slight?
Me, who contribute to your cheer,
And raise your mirth with ale and beer?
Why thus insulted, thus disgrac'd,
And that vile Dunghill near me plac'd?
Are those poor sweepings of a groom,
That filthy sight, that nauseous fume,
Meet objects here? command it hence;
A thing so mean must give offence.'

The humble Dunghill thus replied:

· Thy master hears, and mocks thy pride :
Insult not thus the meek and low;
In me thy benefactor know;

My warm assistance gave thee birth,
Or thou hadst perish'd low in earth;
But upstarts, to support their station,
Cancel at once all obligation.'

PYTHAGORAS AND THE COUNTRYMAN.

PYTHAG'RAS rose at early dawn,

By soaring meditation drawn ;
To breathe the fragrance of the day,
Through flowery fields he took his way.
In musing contemplation warm,
His steps misled him to a farm,

Where on a ladder's topmost round
A peasant stood; the hammer's sound

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Shook the weak barn. Say, Friend, what care
Calls for thy honest labour there?"

The Clown, with surly voice replies,
'Vengeance aloud for justice 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 shall future safety find;
My yard the thriving poultry feed,
And my barns' refuse fat the breed.'

'Friend, (says the Sage) the doom is wise; For public good the murderer dies:

But if these tyrants of the air
Demand a sentence so severe,
Think how the glutton, man, devours;
What bloody feasts regale his hours!
O impudence of pow'r and might,
Thus to condemn a hawk or kite,
When thou, perhaps, carniv'rous sinner,
Hadst pullets yesterday for dinner!'

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Hold, (cried the Clown, with passion heated) Shall kites and men alike be treated?

When Heav'n the world with creatures stor'd,
Man was ordain'd their sovereign lord.'
'Thus tyrants boast, (the Sage replied)
Whose murders spring from pow'r and pride.
Own then this manlike kite is slain
Thy greater luxury to sustain;

For Petty rogues submit to Fate,

That great ones may enjoy their state '."

THE FARMER'S WIFE AND THE RAVEN.

'WHY are those tears? why droops your head? Is then your other husband dead?

Or does a worse disgrace betide?

Hath no one since his death applied?'
'Alas! you know the cause too well;

The salt is spilt, to me it fell;
Then to contribute to my loss,
My knife and fork were laid across :

1 Garth's Dispensary.

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