And with poetic fury fir'd,
What Phoebus faintly had inspir'd.
A noble youth, of taste and wit,
Approv❜d the sprightly things he writ,
And sought him in his cobweb dome,
Discharg'd his rent, and brought him home.
Behold him at the stately board,
Who, but the Poet, and my Lord!
Each day deliciously he dines,
And greedy quaffs the gen'rous wines;
His sides were plump, his skin was sleek,
And plenty wanton'd on his cheek;
Astonish'd at the change so new,
Away th' inspiring goddess flew.
Now, dropt for politics and news,
Neglected lay the drooping Muse,
Unmindful whence his fortune came,
He stifled the poetic flame;
Nor tale, nor sonnet, for my Lady,
Lampoon, nor epigram was ready.
With just contempt his Patron saw
(Resolv'd his bounty to withdraw),
And thus, with anger in his look,
The late repenting fool bespoke:
Blind to the good that courts thee grown, Whence has the sun of favour shone;
Delighted with thy tuneful art,
Esteem was growing in my heart;
But idly thou reject'st the charm
That gave it birth and kept it warm.
Unthinking fools alone despise
The arts that taught them first to rise.
The Wolf, the Sheep, and the Lamb.
DUTY demands, the parent's voice
Should sanctify the daughter's choice;
In that is due obedience shewn;
To choose belongs to her alone.
May horror seize his midnight hour,
Who builds upon a parent's pow'r,
And claims by purchase vile and base,
The loathing maid for his embrace:
Hence virtue sickens; and the breast,
Where peace had built her downy nest,
Becomes the troubled seat of care,
And pines with anguish and despair.
A Wolf, rapacious, rough, and bold,
Whose nightly plunders thinn'd the fold,
Contemplating his ill-spent life,
And cloy'd with thefts, would take a wife.
His purpose known, the savage race,
In num'rous crowds, attend the place;
For why? a mighty Wolf he was,
And held dominion in his jaws.
Her favourite whelp each mother brought,
And humbly his alliance sought;
But cold by age, or else too nice,
None found acceptance in his eyes.
It happen'd, as, at early dawn,
He solitary cross'd the lawn,
Stray'd from the fold, a sportive Lamb
Skipp'd wanton by her fleecy dam;
When Cupid, foe to man and beast,
Discharg'd an arrow at his breast.
The tim'rous breed the robber knew,
And trembling o'er the meadow flew;
Their nimblest speed the Wolf o'ertook,
And courteous thus the Dam bespoke :
Stay, fairest, and suspend your fear,
Trust me, no enemy is near;
These jaws in slaughter oft imbru'd,
At length have known enough of blood:
And kinder bus'ness brings me now,
Vanquish'd, at beauty's feet to bow.
You have a daughter- -Sweet, forgive
A Wolf's address- In her I live;
Love from her eyes like light'ning came,
And set my marrow all on. flame:
Let your consent confirm my choice,
And ratify our nuptial joys.
Me ample wealth and pow'r attend,
Wide o'er the plains my realms extend;
What midnight robber dare invade
The fold, if I the guard am made?
At home the shepherd's cur may sleep,
While I secure his master's sheep.
Discourse like this, attention claim'd,
Grandeur the mother's breast inflam'd;
Now fearless by his side she walk'd,
Of settlements and jointures talk'd:
Propos'd and doubled her demands
Of flow'ry fields and turnip-lands.
The Wolf agrees. Her bosom swells;
To Miss her happy fate she tells;
And of the grand alliance vain,
Contemns her kindred of the plain.
The loathing Lamb with horror hears,
And wearies out her Dam with pray'rs ;
But all in vain, mamma best knew
What unexperienc'd girls should do;
So, to the neighb'ring meadow carry'd,
A formal ass the couple marry'd.
Torn from the tyrant-mother's side,
The trembler goes a victim-bride,
Reluctant, meets the rude embrace,
And bleats among the howling race.
With horror oft her eyes behold
Her murder'd kindred of the fold;
Each day a sister lamb is serv'd,
And at the glutton's table carv'd:
The crashing bones he grinds for food,
And slakes his thirst with streaming blood.
Love, who the cruel mind detests,
And lodges but in gentle breasts,
Was now no more. Enjoyment past,
The savage hunger'd for the feast;
But (as we find in human race,
A mask conceals the villain's face)
Justice must authorize the treat:
Till then he long'd, but durst not eat.
As forth he walk'd in quest of prey,
The hunters met him on the way;
Fear wings his flight; the marsh he sought;
The snuffing dogs are set at fault.
His stomach baulk'd, now hunger gnaws,
Howling, he grinds his empty jaws ;
Food must be had, and lamb is nigh;
His maw invokes the fraudful lie.
Is this (dissembling rage, he cry'd)
The gentle virtue of a bride?
That, leagu'd with man's destroying race,
She sets her husband for the chace?
By treach'ry prompts the noisy hound
To scent his footsteps on the ground?
Thou trait'ress vile! for this thy blood
Shall glut my rage, and dye the wood!
So saying, on the Lamb he flies;
Beneath his jaws the victim dies.
The Goose and the Swans.
I HATE the face, however fair,
That carries an affected air;
The lisping tone, the shape constrain❜d,
The study'd look, the passion feign'd,
Are fopperies, which only tend
To injure what they strive to mend.
With what superior grace enchants
The face which nature's pencil paints ?
Where eyes, unexercis'd in art,
Glow with the meaning of the heart!
Where freedom and good-humour sit,
And easy gaiety and wit!
Though perfect beauty be not there,
The master-lines, the finish'd air,
We catch from every look delight,
And grow enamour'd at the sight;
For beauty, though we all approve,
Excites our wonder more than love;
While the agreeable strikes sure,
And gives the wounds we cannot cure.
Why then, my Amoret, this care,
That forms you, in effect, less fair?
If nature on your cheek bestows
A bloom that emulates the rose,
Or from some heav'nly image drew
A form, Apelles never knew,
Your ill-judg'd aid will you impart,
And spoil by meretricious art?
Or had you, nature's error, come
Abortive from the mother's womb,
Your forming care she still rejects,
Which only heightens her defects.
When such, of glitt'ring jewels proud,
Still press the foremost in the crowd,
At ev'ry public show are seen,
With look awry, and awkward mien,
The gaudy dress attracts the eye,
And magnifies deformity.
Nature may underdo her part,
But seldom wants the help of art;
Trust her, she is your surest friend,
Nor made your form for you to mend.
A Goose, affected, empty, vain,
The shrillest of the cackling train,
With proud and elevated crest,
Precedence claim'd above the rest.
Says she, I laugh at human race,
Who say, geese hobble in their pace;
Look here!--the sland'rous lie detect;
Not haughty man is so erect.
That peacock yonder! lord, how vain
The creature's of his gaudy train!
If both were stripp'd, I'd pawn my word,
A goose would be the finer bird.
Nature, to hide her own defects,
Her bungled work with finery decks;
Were geese set off with half that show,
Would men admire the peacock? No.
Thus vaunting, 'cross the mead she stalks,
The cackling breed attend her walks;
The sun shot down his noon-tide beams,
The swans were sporting in the streams;
Their snowy plumes and stately pride
Provok'd her spleen. Why there, she cry'd,
Again, what arrogance we see !--
Those creatures! how they mimic me!
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