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FABLE XXIV.

THE BUTTERFLY AND THE SNAIL.

ALL upftarts, infolent in place,

Remind us of their vulgar race..
As in the funshine of the morn
A Butterfly (but newly born)
Sat proudly perking on a rofe,
With pert conceit his bofom glows;
His wings (all glorious to behold)
Bedropt with azure, jet, and gold,
Wide he displays; the fpangled dew
Reflects his eyes and various hue.

His now-forgotten friend, a fnail,
Beneath his house, with flimy trail,
Crawls o'er the grafs; whom when he fpres,
In wrath he to the gardener cries:

"What means yon' peafant's daily toil,
From choaking weeds to rid the foil?
Why wake you to the morning's care?
Why with new arts correct the year?
Why grows the peach with crimfon hue ?.
And why the plumb's inviting blue?
Were they to feaft his tafte defign'd,.
That vermin of voracious kind!

Crush then the flow, the pilfering race,
So purge thy garden from difgrace."

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"What

"What arrogance! the Snail reply'd; How infolent is upftart pride!

Hadst thou not thus, with infult vain,
Provok'd my patience to complain,
I had conceal'd thy meaner birth,

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Nor trac'd thee to the fcum of earth:

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For scarce nine funs have wak'd the hours,

To fwell the fruit, and paint the flowers,
Since I thy humbler life furvey'd,
In bafe, in fordid guife array'd;
A hideous infect, vile, unclean,
You drag'd a flow and noisome train ;
And from your fspider-bowels drew
Foul film, and fpun the dirty clue.
I own my humble life, good friend;
Snail was I born, and Snail fhall end.
And what's a Butterfly? at best
He's but a caterpillar dreft;

And all thy race (a numerous (feed).
Shall prove of caterpillar breed."

FABLE. XXV.

THE SCOLD AND THE PARROT.

HE husband thus reprov'd his wife :

Art thou the herald of disgrace,

Denouncing war to all thy race;

Can nothing quell thy thunder's rage,
Which spares nor friend, nor fex, nor age?

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'That

That vixen tongue of your's, my Dear,
Alarms our neighbours far and near.
Good Gods! 'tis like a rolling river,
That murmuring flows, and flows for ever!
Ne'er tir'd, perpetual discord fowing!
Like Fame, it gathers ftrength by going."

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Heigh-day!" the flippant tongue replies,
"How folemn is the fool! how wife!
Is Nature's choicest gift debarr'd?
Nay, frown not; for I will be heard..
Women of late are finely ridden,
A Parrot's privilege forbidden !
You praife his talk, his fqualling fong;
But wives are always in the wrong.'

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Now reputations flew in pieces
Of mothers, daughters, aunts, and nieces:
She ran the Parrot's language o'er,

Bawd, huffy, drunkard, flattern, whore ;
On all the fex fhe vents her fury,
Tries and condemns without a jury.

At once the torrent of her words

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Alarm'd cat, monkey, dogs, and birds:
All join their forces to confound her,

Pufs fpits, the monkey chatters round her;

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The yelping cur her heels affaults;

The magpie blabs out all her faults;
Poll, in the uproar, from his cage,
With this rebuke outscream'd her rage.

"A Parrot is for talking priz'd, But prattling women are defpis'd.

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She

She who attacks another's honour,

Draws every living thing upon her.

Think, Madam, when you ftretch your lungs,
That all your neighbours too have tongues:
One flander must ten thousand get;
The world with interest pays the debt..

FABLE XXVI.

THE CUR AND THE MASTIFF..

A SNEAKING Cur, the mafter's fpy,

Rewarded for his daily lye,

With fecret jealoufies and fears

Set all together by the ears..

Poor Pufs to-day was in difgrace,-
Another Cat fupply'd her place;

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The Hound was beat, the Mastiff chid,
The Monkey was the room forbid;
Each to his dearest friend grew shy,

And none could tell the reason why.

A plan to rob the house was laid:
The thief with love feduc'd the maid,
Cajol'd the Cur, and stroak'd his head,
And bought his fecrecy with bread;
He next the Maftiff's honour try'd,
Whose honeft jaws the bribe defy'd;
He ftretch'd his hand to proffer more;
The furly dog his fingers tore.

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Swift ran the Cur; with indignation

'The Mafter took his information.

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Hang him, the villain 's curs'd," he cries;
And round his neck the halter ties.

The Dog his humble fuit preferr'd,
And beg'd in justice to be heard.
The mafter fate. On either hand
The cited Dogs confronting stand;
The Cur the bloody tale relates,
And, like a Lawyer, aggravates.

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'Judge not unheard, the Maftiff cry'd,
But weigh the cause of either fide.
Think not that treachery can be just;
Take not informers' words on trust;
They ope their hand to every pay,
And you and me by turns betray."

He spoke; and all the truth appear'd:
The Cur was hang'd, the Mastiff clear'd.

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FABLE XXVII.

THE SICK MAN AND THE ANGEL

S there no hope?" the fick man said.

"IS

The filent doctor fhook his head,
And took his leave with figns of forrow,
Defpairing of his fee to-morrow.

When thus the Man, with gafping breath;
I feel the chilling wound of Death.

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