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What tribute from the goose is paid !
Does not her wing all science aid ?
Does it not lovers' hearts explain,
And drudge to raise the merchant's gain?
What now rewards this general use?
He takes the quills, and eats the goofe.
Man then avoid, deteft his
So safety shall prolong your days.
When services are thus acquitted,
Be fure we Pheasants must be fpitted.”
PIN who long had serv'd a beauty,
Proficient in the toilette's duty,
Had form'd her sleeve, confin'd her hair,
Or given her knot a smarter air,
Now nearest to her heart was plac'd,
Now in her manteau's tail disgrac'd :
But could she partial Fortune blame,
Who saw her lovers serv'd the same?
At length from all her honours caft,
Through various turns of life the paft;
Now glitter'd on a taylor's arm,
Now kept a beggar's infant warm;
Now, rang'd within a miser's coat,
Contributes to his yearly groat;
Now, rais'd again from low approach,
She visits in the doctor's.coach:
Here, there, by various fortune toft,
At last in Gresham-hall was loft.
Charm'd with the wonders of the show,
On every fide, above, below,
20 She now of this or that enquires, What least was understood admires. 'Tis plain, each thing fo ftruck her mind, Her head 's of virtuoso kind.
“ And pray what's this, and this, dear Sir?" 25 “ A Needle," says th' interpreter. She knew the name; and thus the fool Addrefs'd her as a tailor's tool.
“ A Needle with that filthy stone, Quite idle, all with ruft o'ergrown; You better might employ your parts, And aid the fempstress in her arts; But tell me how the friendship grew Between that paltry flint and you."
“ Friend, says the Needle, cease to blame; 35 I follow real worth and fame. Know'st thou the loadstone's power and art, That virtue virtues can impart? Of all his talents I partake: Who then can fuch a friend forfake?
40 "Tis I direct the pilot's hand To shun the rocks and treacherous fand : By me the distant world is known, And either India is our own. Had I with milliners been bred,
45 What had I been ? the guide of thread,
And drudg'd as vulgar Needles do,
Of no more consequence than you.'
THE SHEPHERD'S DOG AND THE WOLF.
WOLF, with hunger fierce and bold,
Ravag'd the plains, and thinn'd the fold; Deep in the wood secure he lay, The thefts of night regal'd the day. In vain the shepherd's wakeful care
5 Had spread the toils, and watch'd the snare ; In vain the Dog pursued his pace, The fleeter robber mock'd the chace.
As Lightfoot rang'd the forest round, By chance his foe's retreat he found.
Let us a while the war suspend, And reason as from friend to friend.
“ A truce ?” replies the Wolf. 'Tis done. The Dog the parley thus begun.
“How can that strong intrepid mind
Attack a weak defenceless kind ?
Those jaws should prey on nobler food,
And drink the boar's and lion's blood.
Great souls with generous pity melt,
Which coward tyrants never felt.
20 How harmless is our fleecy care ! Be brave, and let thy mercy spare.”
“ Friend, says the Wolf, the matter weigh; Nature design'd us beasts of prey ;
As such, when hunger finds a treat,
"Tis necessary wolves should eat.
If, mindful of the bleating weal,
Thy bosom burn with real zeal,
Hence, and thy tyrant lord beseech;
To him repeat the moving speech :
A Wolf eats sheep but now and then,
Ten thousands are devour'd by men.
An open foe may prove a curse,
But a pretended friend is worse."
THE PAINTER WHO PLEASED NOBODY.
AND EVERY BODY.
LEST men fufpect your tale untrue,
Keep probability in view.
The traveller leaping o'er those bounds,
The credit of his book confounds.
Who with his tongue hath armies routed,
Makes even his real courage doubted.
But flattery never seems absurd ;
The Aatter'd always take your
Impoflibilities seem just;
They take the strongest praise on trust.
Hyperboles, though ne'er so great,
Will still come short of self-conceit.
So very like a Painter drew,
That every eye the picture knew;
He hit complexion, feature, air,
So just, the life itself was there.
No flattery with his colours laid,
To bloom restor'd the faded maid;
He gave each mufele all its strength;
The mouth, the chin, the nose's length;
His honest pencil touch'd with truth,
And mark'd the date of age and youth.
He loft his friends, his practice fail'd;
Truth should not always be reveald:
In dusty piles his pictures lay,
For no one fent the second pay.
Two bustos, fraught with every grace,
A Venus' and Apollo's face,
He plac'd in view; resolv'd to please,
Whoever fat he drew from these,
From thefe corrected every feature,
And spirited each aukward creature.
All things were fet; the hour was come,
His palette ready o'er his thumb.
My lord appear'd; and feated right,
In proper attitude and light,
The Painter look'd, he sketch'd the piece,
Then dipt his pencil, talk'd of Greece,
Of Titian's tints, of Guido's air;
Those eyes, my Lord, the spirit there
Might well a Raphael's hand require,
To give them all the native fire ;
The features, fraught with senfe and wit,
You 'll grant, are very hard to hit ;