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He spells them true by intuition's light,
And needs no glossary to set him right.

This truth premis'd was needful as a text,
To win due credence to what follows next.

Awhile they mus'd; furveying ev'ry face,
Thou hadft fuppos'd them of fuperior race;
Their periwigs of wool, and fears combin'd,
Stamp'd on each countenance fuch marks of mind,
That fage they seem'd, as lawyers o'er a doubt,
Which, puzzling long, at laft they puzzle out;
Or academic tutors, teaching youths,

Sure ne'er to want them, mathematic truths;
When thus a mutton, ftatelier than the rest,
A ram, the ewes and wethers, fad, addrefs'd.
Friends! we have liv'd too long. I never heard
Sounds fuch as thefe, fo worthy to be fear'd.
Could I believe, that winds for ages pent
In earth's dark womb have found at laft a vent,
And from their prifon-house below arise,
With all these hideous howlings to the skies,
I could be much compos'd, nor fhould appear
For fuch a caufe to feel the flightest fear.
Yourfelves have seen, what time the thunders roll'd
All night, me refting quiet in the fold.
Or heard we that tremendous bray alone,
I could expound the melancholy tone;

Should deem it by our old companion made,
The afs; for he, we know, has lately stray'd,
And being loft, perhaps, and wand'ring wide,
Might be fuppos'd to clamour for a guide.
But ah' thofe dreadful yells what foul can hear,
That owns a carcafe, and not quake for fear?
Dæmons produce them doubtlefs, brazen-claw'd
And fang'd with brafs the dæmons are abroad;
I hold it, therefore, wifest and most fit,
That, life to fave, we leap into the pit.

Him answer'd then his loving mate and true, But more difcreet than he, a Cambrian ewe. How? leap into the pit our life to fave? To fave our life leap all into the grave? For can we find it lefs? Contemplate first The depth how awful! falling there, we burst; Or should the brambles, interpos'd, our fall In part abate, that happiness were small; For with a race like theirs no chance I fee Of peace or eafe to creatures clad as we. Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray, Or be it not, or be it whofe it may,

And rush thofe other founds, that feem by tongues Of dæmons utter'd, from whatever lungs,

Sounds are but founds, and till the cause appear We have at leaft commodious ftanding here.

Come, fiend, come, fury, giant, monfter, blaft
From earth or hell, we can but plunge at laft.
While thus fhe spake, I fainter heard the peals,
For Reynard, clofe attended at his heels,

By panting dog, tir'd man, and spatter'd horse,
Through mere good fortune, took a diff'rent courfe.
The flock grew calm again, and I, the road
Following that led me to my own abode,
Much wonder'd that the filly fheep had found
Such cause of terror in an empty found,

So fweet to huntfman, gentleman, and hound.

MORAL

Beware of deíp❜rate fteps. The darkest day (Live till to-morrow) will have pass'd away.

THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY.

NO FABLE.

THE noon was fhady, and foft airs

Swept Oufe's filent tide,

When, fcap'd from literary cares,

I wander'd on his fide.

My spaniel, prettiest of his race,

And high in pedigree,

(Two nymphs *, adorn'd with ev'ry grace, That spaniel found for me)

Now wanton'd loft in flags and reeds,

Now starting into fight

Purfued the swallow o'er the meads

With scarce a flower flight.

It was the time when Ouse display'd
His lilies newly blown;

Their beauties I intent furvey'd,

And one I wish'd my own.

* Sir Robert Gunning's daughters.

With cane extended far I fought

To fteer it clofe to land;

But ftill the prize, though nearly caught, Escap'd my eager hand.

Beau mark'd my unfuccefsful pains

With fixt confid'rate face,

And puzzling fat his puppy brains

To comprehend the cafe.

But with a chirrup clear and ftrong,
Difperfing all his dream,

I thence withdrew, and follow'd long
The windings of the stream,

My ramble finish'd, I return'd.

Beau trotting far before

The floating wreath again difcern'd,
And plunging left the fhore.

I faw him with that lily cropp'd
Impatient fwim to meet

My quick approach, and foon he dropp'd

The treasure at my feet.

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