Heighday! the flippant tongue replies,
How folemn is the fool! how wife!
Is nature's choicest gift debarr'd?
Nay, frown not; for I will be heard,
Women of late are finely ridden,
A parrot's privilege forbidden!
You praise his talk, his fquawling fong,
But wives are always in the wrong.
Now reputations flew in pieces,
Of mothers, daughters, aunts and neices,.
She ran the parrot's language o'er;
Bawd, huffy, drunkard, flattern, whore ;
On all her fex fhe vents her fury,
Tries and condemns without ajury,
At once the torrent of her words
Alarms cat, monkey, dogs and birds;
All join their forces to confound her,
Pufs fpits, the monkey chatters round her..
The yelping cur her heels affaults,
The magpye blabs out all her faults ;-
Poll, in the uproar from his cage,
With his rebuke out-scream'd her rage..
A parrot is for talking priz'd,
But prattling women are defpis'd;
She, who attacks another's honour,
Draws ev'ry living thing upon her;
Think, madam, when you ftretch your lungs,.
That all your neighbours too have tongues:
One flander muft ten thousand get,
The world with int'reft pays the debt..
As an ant, of his talent's fuperiorly vain, Was trotting, with consequence, over the plain, A worm, in his progress remarkably flow, Cry'd," Blefs your good worship, wherever you go, "I hope your great mightiness won't take it ill, "I pay my refpects from an hearty good-will."
With a look of contempt, and ineffable pride, "Be gone, you vile reptile, his antship reply'd: "Go, go, and lament your contemptible state: "But first-look at me-fee-my limbs, how complete!
"I guide all my motions with freedom and eafe;
"I run back and forward, and turn when I please.
"Of nature (grown weary) thou shocking essay!
I fpurn you, thus from me ;-crawl out of my way.'
The reptile infulted, and vext to the foul,
Crept onwards, and hid himself close in his hole;
But nature determin'd to end his distress,
Soon fent him abroad in a butterfly's drefs.
'Ere long the proud ant was repaffing the road,
(Fatigu'd from the harvest, and tugging his load)
The beau on a violet bank he beheld
Whofe vefture, in glory, a monarch's excell'd ;
His plumage expanded !-'twas rare to behold
So lovely a mixture of purple and gold.
The ant, quite amaz'd at a figure so gay,
Bow'd low with refpect, and was trudging away:
"Stop, friend, fays the butterfly, do'nt be furpriz'd;
"I once was the reptile you fpurn'd and defpis'd;
"But now I can mount-in the fun-beams I play
"While you will for ever drudge on in your way."
I Hate the face, however fair,
That carries an affected air;
The lifping tone, the fhape conftrain'd,
The study'd look, the paffion feign'd,
Are fopperies, which only tend
To injure what they ftrive to mend.
With what fuperior grace enchants
The face which nature's pencil paints!
Where eyes, unexercised in art,
Glow with the meaning of the heart!
Where freedom and good humour fit,
And eafy gaiety and wit!
Though perfect beauty be not there,
The mafter lines the finish'd air,
We catch from every look delight,
enamour'd at the fight:
For beauty, though we all approve,
Excites our wonder more than love,
While the agreeable ftrikes fure,
And gives the wounds we cannot cure.
Why then, my Amoret, this care,
That forms you in effect, lefs fair?
If nature on your cheek beftows
A bloom that emulates the rose,
Or from fome heavenly image drew
A form Apelles never knew,
Your ill-judg'd aid will you impart,
And fpoil by meretricious art!
Or had you nature's error, come
Abortive from the mother's womb,
Your forming care fhe ftill rejects,
Which only heightens her defects.
When fuch of glitt'ring jewels proud,
Still prefs the foremost in the crowd,
At every public shew are seen
With look awry, and aukward mien,
The gaudy drefs attracts the eye,
And magnifies deformity.
Nature may underdo he part,
But feldom wants the help of art;
Trust her. fhe is your fureft friend,
Nor made your form for you to mend.
A goofe, affected, empty, vain,
The fhrilleft of the cackling train,
With proud and elevated creft,
Precedence claim'd above the reft.
Says fhe, I laugh at human race,
Who fay geefe hobble in their pace;
Look here!-the fland'rous lye detect;
Not haughty man is so erect.
That peacock yonder! lord, how vain
The creature's of his gaudy train !
If both were stript, l'd pawn my word
The goofe 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 crofs the mead she stalks,
The cackling breed attend her walks;
The fun fhot down his noon-tide beams,
The swans were sporting in the streams;
Their fnowy plumes, and ftately pride,
Provok'd her fpleen, why, there, the cry'd,
Again with arrogance we fee!
Those creatures! how they mimic me!
Shall every fowl the water skim,
Because we geefe are known to swim ?
Humility they foon fhall learn,
And their own emptinefs difcern.
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