Thus fray began; which critics may suppose,
But for spectators, would have come to blows;
And so they parted, matters half discuss'd,
All in a huff, with mutual disgust.

The prose account in Dr. More, I think,
Relates the story of two clowns in drink;
The verse has cloth'd it in a different strain;
But, either way, the gentle hint is plain,
That-

-'tis a foolish bus'ness to commence Dispute on words without regard to sense. Such was the case of these two partizans. There is another of a single man's Still more absurd, if possible, than this, Must I go on, and tell it you? (Chorus) A certain artist, I forget his name, Had got for making spectacles a fame,

[yes." "Yes

Or helps to read-as, when they first were sold,
Was writ, upon his glaring sign, in gold;
And, for all uses to be had from glass,
His were allow'd, by readers, to surpass :
There came a man, into his shop, one day,
46 Are you the spectacle contriver, pray?"

-not a

"Yes, sir," said he, "I can, in that affair, Contrive to please you, if you want a pair.""Can you? pray do then."-So, at first, he chose To place a youngish pair upon his nose; And book produc'd, to see how they would fit, Ask'd how he lik'd 'em- "Like 'em?"Then sir, I fancy, if you please to try, [bit."These in my hand will better suit your eye.""No, but they don't."-" Well, come, sir, if you Here is another sort, we'll e'en try these; [please, Still somewhat more they magnify the letter; Now sir?"

better."

Why now-I'm not a bit the

Thus to hint that a kingdom will flourish the most, [post; Where the men in high station are fit for their And disgraces attend, both on person and station; If regard be not had to due qualification; He invented, they tell us, this fable of old, Which the place I am in now requires to be told.

The beasts, on a time, when the lion was dead, Met together in council to choose them a head; And, to give to their new constitution a shape Most like to the human, they fix'd on the Ape; They crown'd, and proclaim'd him by parliament And never was monkey so like to a man. [plan,

The Fox, being fam'd for his cunning and wit, Was propos'd to their choice, but they did not

think fit

To elect such a sharper, lest, watching his hour,
He should cunningly creep into absolute pow'r;
No fear of king Ape, or of being so rid;
He would mind his diversion, and do as they did.

Sly Reynard, on this, was resolv'd to expose
Poor Pug, whom the senate so formally chose;
And having observ'd, in his rambles, a gin,
Where a delicate morsel was nicely hung in,
He let the king know what a prize he had found,
And the waste, where it lay, was his majesty's
ground,

"Show me where," said the Ape; so the treasure was shown,

Which he seiz'd with paw royal, to make it his [own; But the gin, at same time, was dispos'd to resist, And clapping together caught Pug by the wrist; Who perceiv'd, by his fingers laid fast in the stocks,

[Fox. What a trick had been play'd by his subject the "Thou traitor!" said he-" but I'll make thee

DULCES ANTE OMNIA MUSÆ.

SPOKEN ON THE SAME OCCASION.

Or all companions, that a man can choose,
Methinks, the sweetest is an honest Muse;
Ready, the subject proper, and the time,
To cheer occasion with harmonic rhyme;
Of all the Muses (for they tell of nine)
Melpomene, sweet flowing Mel, be mine.

Her's the judicious, and the friendly part,
To clear the head, to animate the heart;
Their kindred forces tempering to unite,
Grave to instruct, and witty to delight;
With judgment cool, with passions rightly warm,
She gives the strength to numbers, and the charta.

Her lines, whatever the occasion be, Flow without forcing, natural and free':

No stiff'ning of 'em with poetic starch,
Whether her bard is to be grave, or arch:
Of diffrent topics, which the times produce,
She prompts the fittest for the present use.

She decks, when call'd, when honour'd to attend
On sacred Piety,-her best lov'd friend,-
Decks with a grace, and arms with a defence,
Religion, virtue, morals, and good sense;
Whatever tends to better human mind,
Sets Mel. at work, a friend to all mankind.

A foe, but void of any rancour, foe To all the noisy bustlings here below; To all contention, clamour, and debate, That plagues a constitution, church, or state; That plagues a man's ownself, or makes him will His other self, his neighbour, any ill.

Life, as Mel. thinks, a short, uncertain lease, Demands the fruits of friendship and of peace; Arms and the man her sister Clio sings, To her she leaves your heroes and your kings; To sound the present, or to act the past, And tread the stage in buskin, and bombast.

With nymphs and swains fond Mel. would strow the fields,

[shields;
With flocks and herds, instead of spears and
Recall the scenes that blest a golden age,
E'er mutual love gave way to martial rage;
And bards, high soaring above simpler phrase,
To genuine light preferr'd the glaring blaze.

She scorns alike, ignobly to rehearse
The spiteful satire, or the venal verse;
Free in her praise, and in her censure too,
But merit, but amendment is her view;
A rising worth still higher to exalt,
Or save a culprit from a future fault.

No sour, pedantical, abusive rage,
No vicious rant defiles her freest page;
No vile indecent sally, or prophane,
To pleasure fools, or give the wise a pain;
Her mirth is aim'd to mend us, if we heed,
And what the chastest of her sex may read.

She looks on various empires, various men,
As all one tribe, when she directs the pen;
'She loves the Briton, and she loves the Gaul,
Swede, Russ, or Turk, she wishes well to all:
They all are men, all sons of the same sire,
And must be all belov'd, if Mel. inspire.

It would rejoice her votaries to see
All Europe, Asia, Africa agree;
"But the new world, new England's dire alarms!
Should not Melpomene now sing to arms?"-
No, she must ever wish all war to cease,
While folks are fighting, she must hold her peace.

Content to hope that, what events are due
Will bless new England, and old England too;
Friend to fair traders, and free navigation,
And friend to Spain, but foe to depredation:
And friend to France, but let heroic Clio
Demolish French encroachments at Ohio.

Safe from all foreign and domestic foes
Be all your liberties in verse or prose:
Be safe abroad your colonies, your trade,
From guarda-costas, and from gasconade :

At home, your lives, your acres, and your bags; And plots against ye vanish all to rags.

But much of safety, let concluding line Observe, depends upon yourselves-in fine, Home or abroad, the world is but a school, Where all things roll to teach one central rule, That is, if you would prosper, and do well, Love one another, and remember Mel.

THE COUNTRY FELLOWS AND THE ASS.

A FABLE. SPOKEN ON THE SAME OCCASION.

A COUNTRY fellow and his son, they tell

In modern fables, had an ass to sell:
For this intent they turn'd it out to play,
And fed so well, that by the destin'd day,
They brought the creature into sleek repair,
And drove it gently to a neighb'ring fair.

[ass!

As they were jogging on, a rural class Was heard to say: "Look! look there, at that And those two blockheads trudging on each side, That have not, either of 'em, sense to ride; Asses all three!"-And thus the country folks On man and boy began to cut their jokes.

Th' old fellow minded nothing that they said, But ev'ry word stuck in the young one's head; And thus began their comment there upon: "Ne'er heed 'em, lad."-" Nay, faither, do get on." "Not I indeed."-" Why then let me, I pray." "Well do; and see what prating tongues will say."

The boy was mounted; and they had not got Much farther on, before another knot, Just as the ass was pacing by, pad pad, Cried, "O! that lazy looby of a lad! How unconcernedly the gaping brute Lets the poor aged fellow walk a foot."

Down came the son, on hearing this account, And begg'dand pray'd, and made his father mount: Till a third party, on a farther stretch, "See! see!" exclaim'd, "that old hard hearted

wretch!

How like a justice there he sits, or squire;
While the poor lad keeps wading thro' the mire."

"Stop," cried the lad, still deeper vex'd in mind, "Stop father; stop; let me get on behind.” Thus done, they thought they certainly should please, bry

Escape reproaches, and be both at ease;
For having tried each practicable way,
What could be left for jokers now to say?

Still disappointed, by succeeding tone,
"Hark ye, you fellows! Is that ass your own?
Get off, for shame! Or one of you at least,
You both deserve to carry the poor beast;
Ready to drop down dead upon the road,
With such an huge, unconscionable load."

On this, they both dismounted; and some say, Contriv'd to carry, like a truss of hay, The ass between 'em; prints, they add, are seen With man and lad, and slinging ass between: Others omit that fancy in the print,

As overstraining an ingenious hint.

The copy that we follow; says, The man Rubb'd down the ass, and took to his first plan; Walk'd to the fair, and sold him, got his price, And gave his son this pertinent advice: "Let talkers talk; stick thou to what is best; To think of pleasing all-is all a jest."

SPOKEN ON THE SAME OCCASION.

In nova fert animus mutatas dicere forinas
Corpora.-

PYTHAGORAS, an ancient sage, opin'd

That form and shape were indexes of mind;
And minds of men, when they departed hence,
Would all be form'd according to this sense:
Some animal, or human shape again,
Would show the minds of all the former men.
Let us adopt this transmigration plan,
And mark how animal exhibits man:
Tyrants, for instance, (to begin with those
Who make the greatest noise, the greatest woes:)
Of their dominion lions are the key,

That reign in deserts now, and hunt their prey;
Sometimes dethron'd, and brought upon a stage,
Or coop'd, like Bajazet, within a cage;
For sixpence, safe from all tyrannic harms,
One may see kings, perhaps, at the King's-arms.
See savage monarchs, who had shown before
The tusky temper of the wildest boar,
Vested in proper shape, when they are dead,
Reviv'd and caught, and shown at the Boar's-head.
In some tam'd elephants our eyes may scan
The once great, rich, o'ergrown, half-reas'ning man:
My lord had sense to wind into his maw
All within reach, that lay within the law;
What would have fed a thousand mouths was sunk
To fill his own, by hugeous length of trunk,

He

grew to monstrous grandeur, liv'd a show; And stones high rais'd told where he was laid low: By transmigration it appears at least, That such great man is really a great beast.

From animals, that once were men, to pass
To men, of now almost ambiguous class:
Players, and Harlequins, and pantomimes,
Who sell their shapes, to mimic men and times;
With all the servile, second-handed tribe
Of imitators, endless to describe,

Ja their own figures when they come to range,
With small transition into monkeys change:
For now men-monkeys have not in their view
What should be done by men, but what they do.
Of tempers, by inferior forms express'd,
And seen for nothing, something may be guess'd.
When the sly fox ensnares the silly geese,
Who does not see that mind is of a piece
With former lawyers, who devour'd by far
The sillier clients drawn into the bar?

In human shape when he has spent his years,
Stript of sheep's clothing, real wolf appears."
Plain in four footed animals, let's try
Instance, that first occurs, in such as fly:
The parrot shows, by its unmeaning prate,
Full many a talker's metamorphos'd fate,
Whose tongue outstrips the clapper of a mill,
And still keeps saying the same nothing still;
As full the city, and as full the court,
As India's woods, with creatures of this sort,
If rightly the gay feather'd bird foretels
The future shape of eloquenter belles,
Or beaux, transmigrated, the human dolls
Will talk, and shine caress'd in pretty Polls.
Belles, you may see, pursue a butterfly
With painted wings that flutter in the sky;
And sparkling to the solar rays, unfold
Red mix'd with purple, green with shining gold;
Nor wonder at the fond pursuit, for know
That this same butterfly was once a beau;
And, dress'd according to the newest whim,
Ran after them, as they run after him.

Footed or flying, all decypher men:

| Enough to add one other instance then,
One from a courtier, a creeping thing;
He takes new colours as there comes new king;
Lives upon airy promises, and dies;
His transmigration can be no surprise;
Cameleon-shape by that he comes to share;
Still changes colours, and still feeds on air.
By his ingenious fiction, in the end,
What could the wise Pythagoras intend?
Too wise a man not to intend a clue
To change, hereafter, literally true.
The solar system of our boasted age
Was known of old to this enlighten'd sage:
So might his thoughts ou man's immortal soul,
Howe'er express'd, be right upon the whole:
He meant, one need not scruple to affirm,
This real truth, by transinigration term.

Our tempers here must point to the degree In which hereafter we design to be. From vice in minds, undoubtedly will grow More ugly shapes than any here below; But sacred virtue, piety, and love, What beauteous forms will they produce above!

THE POND.

At qui tantulo eget, quanto est opus, is neque limo
Turbatam haurit aquam, neque vitam amittit in
undis.
Hor.

ONCE on a time, a certain man was found
That had a pond of water in his ground:
A fine large pond of water fresh and clear,
Enough to serve his turn for many a year.
Yet so it was a strange unhappy dread
Of wanting water seiz'd the fellow's head:
When he was dry, he was afraid to drink
Too much at once, for fear his pond should sink.
Perpetually tormented with this thought,
He never ventur'd on a hearty draught;
Still dry, still fearing to exhaust his store,
When half refresh'd, he frugally gave o'er;
Reviving of himself reviv'd his fright,

"Better," quoth he, "to be half chok'd than quite."

Upon his pond continually intent, In cares and pains his anxious life he spent; Consuming all his time and strength away, To make the pond rise higher every day: He work'd and lav'd, and-oh! how slow it fills! Pour'd in by pail-fulls, and took out-by gills. In a wet season-he would skip about, Placing his buckets under ev'ry spout; From falling show'rs collecting fresh supply, And grudging ev'ry cloud--that passed by; Cursing the dryness of the times each hour, Altho' it rain'd as fast as it could pour. Then he would wade thro' ev'ry dirty spot, Where any little moisture could be got; And when he had done draining of a bog, Still kept himself as dirty as a hog:

Nay, how can one imagine it should thrive,
So many creatures as it keeps alive!
That creep from ev'ry nook and corner, marry!
Filching as much as ever they can carry:
Then all the birds that fly along the air
Light at my pond, and cone in for a share:
Item, at ev'ry puff of wind that blows,
Away at once-the surface of it goes:
The rest, in exhalations to the Sun--
One month's fair weather-and I am undone.”
This life he led for many a year together;
Grew old and grey in watching of his weather;
Meagre as Death itself, till this same Death
Stopt, as the saying is, his vital breath;
For as th' old fool was carrying to his field
A heavier burthen than he well could wield,

It costs

a world of water to be clean!"

If some poor neighbour crav'd to slake his thirst, "What! rob my pond! I'll see the rogue hang'd A burning shame, these vermin of the poor [first: Should creep unpunish'd thus about my door! As if I had not frogs and toads enoo, That suck my pond whatever I can do."

The Sun still found him, as he rose or set,
Always of quest in matters--that were wet:
Betimes he rose to sweep the morning dew,
And rested late to catch the ev'ning too.
With soughs and troughs he labour'd to enrich
The rising pond from ev'ry neighb'ring ditch;
With soughs, and troughs, and pipes, and cuts,
and sluices,

From growing plants he drain'd the very juices;
Made ev'ry stick of wood upon the hedges
Of good behaviour to deposit pledges;
By some conveyance or another, still
Devis'd recruits from each declining hill:
He left, in short, for this beloved plunder
No stone unturn'd-that could have water under.
Sometimes-when forc'd to quit his awkward
toil,

And-sore against his will-to rest awhile;

Then straight he took his book, and down he sat
To calculate th' expenses he was at;
How much he suffer'd, at a mod'rate guess,
From all those ways by which the pond grew less;
For as to those by which it still grew bigger,
For them he reckon'd--not a single figure:
He knew a wise old saying, which maintain'd
That 't was bad luck to count what one had gain'd.
First, for myself-my daily charges here
Cost a prodigious quantity a year:
Altho', thank Heaven, I never boil my meat,
Nor am I such a sinner as to sweat:
But things are come to such a pass, indeed
We spend ten times the water that we need;
People are grown with washing, cleansing, rinc-
ing,

So finical and nice, past all convincing;
So many proud fantastic modes in short
Are introduc'd, that my poor pond pays for't.
"Not but I could be well enough content
With what, upon my own account, is spent;
But those large articles, from whence I reap
No kind of profit, strike me on a heap:
What a vast deal each moment, at a sup,
This ever thirsty Earth itself drinks up!
Such holes! and gaps! Alas! my pond provides
Scarce for its own unconscionable sides:

In tumbling of it in--but in he tumbled:
Mighty desirous to get out again,
He scream'd and scrambl'd, but 't was all in vain:
The place was grown so very deep and wide,
Nor bottom of it could he feel, nor side,
And so i'the middle of his pond—he dy’d.
What think ye now from this imperfect sketch,
My friends, of such a miserable wretch?

Two foot companions once in deep discourse, "Tom," says the one--"let's go and steal a horse." "Steal!" says the other, in a huge surprise, "He that says I'm a thief-I say he lies."

Well, well," replies his friend,—no such affrout, I did but ask ye-if you won't-you won't." So they jogg'd on-till, in another strain, The querist mov'd to honest Tom again; "Suppose," says he,-for supposition sake,— 'Tis but a supposition that I make,Suppose that we should filch a horse, I say?" "Fitch! filch!" quoth Tom, demurring by the way;

"That's not so bad as downright theft-I own-
But-yet-methinks-'twere better let alone:
It soundeth something pitiful and low;
Shall we go filch a horse, you say why no-
I'll filch no filching;-and I'll tell no lie:
Honesty's the best policy-say I."

Struck with such vast integrity quite dumb
His comrade paus'd-at last, says he,-"Come,
Thou art an honest fellow-I agree- [come;
Honest and poor;-alas! that should not be:
And dry into the bargain-and no drink!
Shall we go nim a horse, Tom,-what dost' think?”
How clear things are when liquor's in the case?
Tom answers quick, with casuistic grace,
"Nim? yes, yes, yes, let's nim with all my heart,
I see no harm in nimming, for my part;
Hard is the case, now I look sharp into't,
That honesty should trudge i'th' dirt a foot;

So many empty horses round about,

That honesty should wear its bottoms out;
Besides shall honesty be chok'd with thirst?
Were it my lord mayor's horse-I'd nim it first.
And-by the by-my lad-no scrubby tit-
There is the best that ever wore a bit, [friend,
Not far from hence"-" I take ye," quoth his
"Is not yon stable, Tom, our journey's end."
Good wits will jump-both meant the very
steed;

The top o'th' country, both for shape and speed:
So to't they went—and, with an halter round
His feather'd neek, they nimm'd him off the ground.
And now, good people, we should next relate
Of these adventurers the luckless fate:
Poor Tom!-but here the sequel is to seek,
Not being yet translated from the Greek:
Some say, that Tom would honestly have peach'd.
But by his blabbing friend was over-reach'd;
Others insist upon't that both the elves
Were, in like manner, halter-nimm'd themselves.

It matters not-the moral is the thing,

For which our purpose, neighbours, was to sing.
If it should hit some few amongst the throng,
Let 'em not lay the fault upon the song
Fair warning all: he that has got a cap,
Now put it on-or else beware a rap:
'Tis but a short one, it is true, but yet
Has a long reach with it-videlicet,

Twixt right and wrong how many gentle trimmers
Will neither steal nor filch, but will be plaguy
Nimmers!

CARELESS CONTENT.

I AM content, I do not care,
Wag as it will the world for me;
When fuss and fret was all my fare,
It got no ground as I could see:
So when away my caring went,
I counted cost, and was content.

With more of thanks and less of thought,
I strive to make my matters meet;
To seek what ancient sages sought,

Physic and food in sour and sweet:
To take what passes in good part,
And keep the hiccups from the heart.
With good and gentle humour'd hearts,
I choose to chat where e'er I come,
Whate'er the subject be that starts;
But if I get among the glum,
I hold my tongue to tell the troth,
And keep my breath to cool my broth.

For chance or change of peace or pain; For Fortune's favour or her frown; For lack or glut, for loss or gain,

I never dodge, nor up nor down:

But swing what way the ship shall swim,
Or tack about with equal trim.

I suit not where I shall not speed,
Nor trace the turn of ev'ry tide;
If simple sense will not succeed

I make no bustling, but abide:"
For shining wealth, or scaring woe,
I force no friend, I fear no foe.

Of ups and downs, of ins and outs,

Of they're i' th' wrong, and we're i'th' right,
I shun the rancours and the routs,
And wishing well to every wight,
Whatever turn the matter takes,
I deem it all but ducks and drakes,
With whom I feast I do not fawn,
Nor if the folks should flout me, faint;
If wonted welcome be withdrawn,

I cook no kind of a complaint:
With none dispos'd to disagree,
But like them best who best like me.
Not that I rate myself the rule

How all my betters should behave;
But fame shall find me no man's fool,
Nor to a set of men a slave;

I love a friendship free and frank,
And hate to hang upon a hank.
Fond of a true and trusty tie,

I never loose where'er I link;
Tho' if a bus'ness budges by,

I talk thereon just as I think:
My word, my work, my heart, my hand,
Still on a side together stand.

If names or notions make a noise,
Whatever hap the question hath,
The point impartially I poise,

And read or write, but without wrath;
For should I burn, or break my brains,
Pray, who will pay me for my pains?

I love my neighbour as myself,

Myself like him too, by his leave;
Nor to his pleasure, pow'r, or pelf,

Came I to crouch, as 1 conceive:
Dame Nature doubtless has design'd
A man the monarch of his mind.
Now taste and try this temper, sirs,
Mood it and brood it in your breast;
Or if ye ween, for worldly stirs,

That man does right to mar his rest,
Let me be deft, and debonair,

I am content, I do not care.

ON PATIENCE.

WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF A FRIEND.

PART I.

"AVERSE on patience?" Yes;-but then prepare
Your mind, friend T-c-t, with a reading share;
Or else 't will give you rather less than more,
To hear it mention'd, than you had before:
If mine to write, remember, 't is your task
To bear the lines, which you are pleas'd to ask.

Patience the theme?-a blessed inmate this!
The nursing parent of our bosom bliss:
Abroad for bliss she bids us not to roam,
But cultivate its real fund at home:
A noble treasure--when the patient soul
Sits in the centre, and surveys the whole.

The bustling world, to fetch her out from thence, Will urge the various, plausible pretence; Will praise perfections of a grander name, Sound great exploits, and call her out to fame;