DEATH, on a solemn night of state,
In all his pomp of terror sate:

The' attendants of his gloomy reign,
Diseases dire, a ghastly train,

Crowd the vast court. With hollow tone
A voice thus thunder'd from the throne:
“This night our minister we name ;
Let every servant speak his claim;
Merit shall bear this ebon wand."

All, at the word, stretch'd forth their hand.
Fever, with burning heat possess'd,
Advanced, and for the wand address'd:

"I to the weekly bills appeal,

Let those express my fervent zeal;

On every slight occasion near,
With violence I persevere.”

Next Gout appears with limping pace,
Pleads how he shifts from place to place;
From head to foot how swift he flies,

And every joint and sinew plies ;
Still working when he seems suppress'd,
A most tenacious stubborn guest.

A haggard Spectre from the crew
Crawls forth, and thus asserts his due:
""Tis I who taint the sweetest joy,
And in the shape of Love destroy:
My shanks, sunk eyes, and noseless face,
Prove my pretension to the place.”

Stone urged his ever-growing force;
And next, Consumption's meagre corse,
With feeble voice, that scarce was heard,
Broke with short coughs, his suit preferr'd:
"Let none object my lingering way,
I gain, like Fabius, by delay;
Fatigue and weaken every foe

By long attack, secure, though slow."
Plague represents his rapid power,

Who thinn'd a nation in an hour.

All spoke their claim, and hoped the wand.

Now expectation hush'd the band,

When thus the monarch from the throne:
"Merit was ever modest known.

What, no Physician speak his right!
None here! but fees their toils requite.

Let then Intemperance take the wand,
Who fills with gold their zealous hand.
You, Fever, Gout, and all the rest,
(Whom wary men, as foes, detest,)
Forego your claim; no more pretend;
Intemperance is esteem'd a friend;
He shares their mirth, their social joys,
And as a courted guest destroys:
The charge on him must justly fall,
Who finds employment for you

all."

THE GARDENER AND THE HOG.

A GARDENER of peculiar taste
On a young Hog his favour plaeed,
Who fed not with the common herd;
His tray was to the hall preferr'd:
He wallow'd underneath the board,
Or in his master's chamber snored,
Who fondly stroked him every day,
And taught him all the puppy's play.
Where'er he went, the grunting friend
Ne'er fail'd his pleasure to attend.

As on a time the loving pair
Walk'd forth to tend the garden's care,
The master thus address'd the Swine :
"My house, my garden, all is thine.

FABLE XLVIII.

On turnips feast whene'er you please,
And riot in my beans and peas;
If the potato's taste delight,

Or the red carrot's sweet invite,
Indulge thy morn and evening hours,
But let due care regard my flowers:
My tulips are my garden's pride:
What vast expense those beds supplied!"

The Hog by chance one morning roam'd Where with new ale the vessels foam'd:

He munches now the steaming grains,

Now with full sw.ll the liquor drains.
Intoxicating fumes arise;

He reels, he rolls his winking eyes;

Then staggering through the garden scours,
And treads down painted ranks of flowers:
With delving snout he turns the soil,
And cools his palate with the spoil.
The master came, the ruin spied;
"Villain! suspend thy rage," he cried:
"Hast thou, thou most ungrateful sot,
My charge, my only charge, forgot?
What, all my flowers!" No more he said,
But gazed, and sigh'd, and hung his head.

The Hog with stuttering speech returns:
"Explain, Sir, why your anger burns.
See there, untouch'd, your tulips strown;
For I devour'd the roots alone."

At this the Gardener's passion grows; From oaths and threats he fell to blows: