Whilst Fubb till ten, on silken bed, And leaves the cheese unguarded. 12 Nor rats nor mice the lap-dog fear, 13 Meanwhile, to cover their deceit, Nab says, the cat comes, out of spite, 14 Nor corn secure in garret high, On And still Grimalkin does it. 15 The gains from corn apace decayed, Complaints came from the dairy-maid, 16 With this same lady once there lived Who, hearing this, full much was grieved, And hastened to her aid. 17 Much art she used for to disclose And find out the deceit; At length she to the lady goes, And opens all the cheat. 18 Struck with the sense of her mistake, Resolves again her cat to take, THE WIDOW AND HER CAT. A FABLE. 1 1 A WIDOW kept a favourite cat, At first a gentle creature; But, when he was grown sleek and fat, 2 The fox and he were friends of old, 3 He scratched the maid, he stole the cream, Nor chick, nor duckling, 'scapes, when Grim Invites the fox to dinner. 4 The dame full wisely did decree, For fear he should dispatch more, 1 Some ascribe this to Swift. That the false wretch should worried be; Thus speeched it like a Lechmere: 5 Must I, against all right and law, 6 Your golden pippins, and your pies, 'Tis true, the pinner which you prize, 7 'I am a cat of honour.'-'Stay!' 8 'Of this we'll grant you stand acquit, 9 So flagrant is thy insolence, So vile thy breach of trust is, That longer with thee to dispense, Were want of power, or want of senseHere, Towzer!-do him justice.' 1 The celebrated lawyer. A PARAPHRASE FROM THE FRENCH. IN grey-haired Celia's withered arms As mighty Lewis lay, She cried, If I have any charms, My dearest, let's away! For you, my love, is all my fear, Not to expose your person. You ought to leave so mean a care They know how heroes may be made 'Tis best to leave them fairly; Let Bouflers, to secure your fame, Go take some town, or buy it; 10 20 SONGS, SET TO MUSIC BY THE MOST EMINENT MASTERS. I. SET BY MR ABEL. READING ends in melancholy; Wine breeds vices and diseases; My wealth, my books, my flask, my Molly, II. SET BY MR PURCELL. 1 WHITHER Would my passion run, Shall I fly her, or pursue her? Losing her, I am undone; Yet would not gain her, to undo her. 2 Ye tyrants of the human breast, Love and reason! cease your war, III. SET BY MR DE FESCH. 1 STREPHONETTA, why d'ye fly me, With such rigour in your eyes? Oh! 'tis cruel to deny me, Since your charms I so much prize. 2 But I plainly see the reason, Why in vain I you pursued; Who before the chaplain wooed. |