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Since I must bid the world adieu,
“ Ah! Friend! he cry'd. No more in Aattering hope confide. Can thy good deeds in former times Outweigh the balance of thy crimes ? What widow or what orphan prays To crown thy life with length of days? A pious action 's in thy power, Embrace with joy the happy hour. Now, while you draw the vital air,
35 Prove your intention is fincere :
This instant give a hundred pound;
« But why such hafte, the fick Man whines;.
will." " Fool, says the Vifion, now 'tis plain Your life, your foul, your Heaven, was gain. From every fide, with all your might, 45 You scrap'd, and scrap'd beyond your right; And after death would fain atone, By giving what is not your own.
“ While there is life, there's hope, he cry'd; Then why such hafte?" fo groan'd, and dy'd. 50
F A B L E XXVIII.
"THE PERSIAN, THE SUN, AND THE CLOUD.
Is there a bard whom genius fires,
Whose every thought the God inspires ?
As, proftrate to the God of Day,
“ Parent of Light ! all-seeing Sun !
A Cloud, who mock'd his grateful tongue,
“ Weak is this gaudy god of thine, Whom I at will forbid to shine. Shall I nor vows nor incense know?
2; Where praise is due, the praise bestow."
With fervent zeal the Persian mov’d, Thus the proud Calumny reprov'd. “ It was that God who claims my prayer Who gave
thee birth, and rais’d thee there; 30 When o'er his beams the veil is thrown, Thy substance is but plainer shown: A passing gale, a puff of wind, Dispels thy thickest troops combin'd.” The gale arose; the vapour tost
35 (The sport of winds) in air was loft; The glorious orb the day refines. Thus envy breaks, thus merit shines.
F A B L E XXIX.
THE FOX AT THE POINT OF DEATH.
A Fox, in life's extreme decay:
Weak, fick, and faint, expiring lay:
The hungry Foxes round them star'd,
“ Where, Sir, is all this dainty cheer? Nor Turkey, Goose, nor Hen, is here. These are the phantoms of your brain; And
your fons lick their lips in vain." “ O Gluttons ! says the drooping Sire, Restrain inordinate desire. Your liquorifh taste you shall deplore, When peace of conscience is no more. Vol. XXXVII. G
Does not the hound betray our pace,
25 And gins and guns destroy our race? Thieves dread the searching eye of power ; And never feel the quiet hour. Old age (which few of us shall know) Now puts a period to my woe.
30 Would you true happiness attain, Let honesty your passfons rein ; So live in credit and esteem, And the good name you loft redeem.”
". The counsel's good, a Fox replies, 35 Could we perform what you advise. Think what our ancestors have done; A line of thieves from son to fon. To us descends the long disgrace, And infamy hath mark'd our race.
40 Though we, like harmless sheep, should feed, Honeft in thought, in word, and deed, Whatever hen-rooft is decreas'd, We shall be thought to fhare the feast. The change shall never be believ'd.
45 A lost good name is ne'er retriev'd.”
“ Nay, then, replies the feeble Fox, (But, hark! I hear a hen that clucks) Go; but be moderate in your food ; A chicken, too, might do me good.”