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She shakes the dice, the board she knocks, And from all pockets fills her box.

She next a meagre rake address'd:

This picture see; her shape, her breast!
What youth, and what inviting eyes!
Hold her, and have her.' With surprise,
His hand exposed a box of pills,
And a loud laugh proclaim'd his ills.
A counter, in a miser's hand,
Grew twenty guineas at command:
She bids his heir the sum retain,
And 'tis a counter now again.

A guinea with her touch you see
Take every shape but Charity;
And not one thing you saw, or drew,
But changed from what was first in view.
The Juggler now, in grief of heart,
With this submission own'd her art:
Can I such matchless sleight withstand!
How practice hath improved your hand!
But now and then I cheat the throng;
You every day, and all day long.'

THE

COUNCIL OF HORSES.

UPON a time a neighing steed,
Who grazed among a numerous breed,
With mutiny had fired the train,

And spread dissension through the plain.
On matters that concern'd the state
The Council met in grand debate.

A Colt, whose eyeballs flamed with ire,
Elate with strength and youthful fire,
In haste stepp'd forth before the rest,
And thus the listening throng address'd:
Good gods! how abject is our race,
Condemn'd to slavery and disgrace!
Shall we our servitude retain,

Because our sires have borne the chain?
Consider, friends! your strength and might;
'Tis conquest to assert your right.
How cumbrous is the gilded coach!
The pride of man is our reproach.
Were we design'd for daily toil,

Το

To drag the ploughshare through the soil,
To sweat in harness through the road,
groan
beneath the carrier's load?
How feeble are the two-legged kind!
What force is in our nerves combin'd!
Shall then our nobler jaws submit
To foam and champ the galling bit?
Shall haughty man my back bestride?
Shall the sharp spur provoke my side?
Forbid it Heavens! Reject the rein;
Your shame, your infamy, disdain.
Let him the lion first control,
And still the tiger's famish'd growl.
Let us, like them, our freedom claim,
And make them tremble at our name.'
A general nod approved the cause,
And all the circle neigh'd applause.
When, lo! with grave and solemn pace,
A Steed advanced before the race,
With age and long experience wise;
Around he cast his thoughtful eyes,

And, to the murmurs of the train,

Thus spoke the Nestor of the plain :

• When I had health and strength, like you, The toils of servitude I knew ;

Now grateful man rewards my pains,
And gives me all these wide domains.
At will I crop the year's increase;
My latter life is rest and peace.
I grant to man we lend our pains,
And aid him to correct the plains;
But doth not he divide the care,
Through all the labours of the year?
How many thousand structures rise,
To fence us from inclement skies!
For us he bears the sultry day,
And stores up all our winter's hay.
He sows, he reaps the harvest's gain;

We share the toil, and share the grain.
Since every creature was decreed
To aid each other's mutual need,
Appease your discontented mind,
And act the part by Heaven assign'd.'

The tumult ceased. The Colt submitted; And, like his ancestors, was bitted.

THE

HOUND AND THE HUNTSMAN.

IMPERTINENCE at first is borne

With heedless slight, or smiles of scorn:
Teased into wrath, what patience bears
The noisy fool who perseveres?

The morning wakes, the Huntsman sounds, At once rush forth the joyful Hounds; They seek the wood with eager pace, Through bush, through brier, explore the chase: Now scatter'd wide they try the plain, And snuff the dewy turf in vain. What care, what industry, what pains! What universal silence reigns! Ringwood, a dog of little fame, Young, pert, and ignorant of game, At once displays his babbling throat; The pack, regardless of the note, Pursue the scent; with louder strain He still persists to vex the train.

The Huntsman to the clamour flies, The smacking lash he smartly plies. His ribs all welk'd, with howling tone The puppy thus express'd his moan:

• I know the music of my tongue Long since the pack with envy stung. What will not spite? these bitter smarts I owe to my superior parts.'

When Puppies prate, (the Huntsman cried)

They show both ignorance and pride:
Fools may our scorn, not envy, raise,
For envy is a kind of praise.

Had not thy forward noisy tongue
Proclaim'd thee always in the wrong,
Thou might'st have mingled with the rest,
And ne'er thy foolish nose confess'd:
But fools, to talking ever prone,

Are sure to make their follies known.'

THE POET AND THE ROSE.

I HATE the man who builds his name
On ruins of another's fame:

Thus prudes, by characters o'erthrown,
Imagine that they raise their own;
Thus scribblers, covetous of praise,
Think slander can transplant the bays.
Beauties and bards have equal pride,
With both all rivals are decried.
Who praises Lesbia's eyes and feature,
Must call her sister awkward creature;
For the kind flattery's sure to charm,
When we some other nymph disarm.
As in the cool of early day

A Poet sought the sweets of May,
The garden's fragrant breath ascends,
And every stalk with odour bends:
A Rose he pluck'd, he gazed, admired,
Thus singing, as the Muse inspired :--
'Go, Rose, my Chloe's bosom grace;
How happy should I prove,

Might I supply that envied place

With never-fading love!

There, Phoenix-like, beneath her

eye,

Involved in fragrance, burn and die.

Know, hapless flower! that thou shalt find
More fragrant Roses there;

I see thy withering head reclined

With envy and despair!

One common fate we both must prove ;
You die with envy, I with love.'

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