Counsel fhe may; and I will give thy Ear Beware to learn; nor prefs too near the Throne. To whom the Goddefs with the charming Eyes, What haft thou faid, O Tyrant of the Skies, When did I fearch the Secrets of thy Reign, [vain? Though privileg'd to know, but privileg'd in But well thou doft, to hide from common Sight Thy close Intrigues, too bad to bear the Light. Nor doubt I, but the Silver-footed Dame, Tripping from Sea, on fuch an Errand came, To grace her Iffue, at the Grecians Coft, And for one peevish Man destroy an Hoft. To whom the Thund'rer made this fternReply My Houshold Curfe, my lawful Plague, the Spy Of Jove's Designs, his other fquinting Eye; Why this vain prying, and for what avail? Jove will be Master still, and Juno fail. Shou'd thy fufpicious Thoughts divine aright, Thou but becom'ft more odious to my Sight, For this Attempt: uneafie Life to me Still watch'd, and importun'd, but worse for thee. Curb that impetuous Tongue, before too late [Fear: This heard, th' Imperious Queen fate mute with Nor further durft incenfe the gloomy Thunderer. Silence was in the Court at this Rebuke: [Look. Nor cou'd the Gods abafh'd, fuftain their Sov'reigns The Limping Smith obferv'd the fadden'd Feast, And hopping here and there (himself a Jeft) Put in his Word, that neither might offend; To Jove obfequious, yet his Mother's Friend. What end in Heav'n will be of civil War, If Gods of Pleasure will for Mortals jar? Such Difcord but difturbs our Jovial Feaft; One Grain of Bad, embitters all the best. Mother, tho' wife your felf, my Counsel weigh; "Tis much unfafe my Sire to difobey. Not only you provoke him to your Coft, But Mirth is marr'd, and the good Chear is lost. Tempt not his heavy Hand; for he has Pow'r To throw you headlong, from his Heav'nly Tow'r. But one fubmiffive Word, which you let fall, He faid no more; but crown'd a Bowl, unbid: At Vulcan's homely Mirth his Mother fmil'd, And smiling took the Cup the Clown had fill'd. The The Reconciler Bowl went round the Board, Nor wanted tuneful Harp, nor vocal Quire; THE COCK and the FOX: OR, THE TALE of the NUN'S PRIEST, T From CHAUCER. HERE liv'd, as Authors tell, in A Widow fomewhat old, and very poor: Deep in a Cell her Cottage lonely stood, She duly paid a Groat for Quarter-Rent; |