Sound wind and limb, as any ever was, "And rising only seven years old next grass. "A pretty piece of flesh, upon my conscience, sir." This speech. was B- -t's; and, tho' mean in phrase, The nearest thing to prose, as Horace says, (Satire the fourth, and forty-second line) "Twill intimate that I propose to dine Next week with B***. Muse, lend thine aid a while; For this great purpose claims a lofty style. Ere yonder sun, now glorious in the west, Has thrice three times reclined on Thetis' breast; Ere thrice three times, from old Tithonus' bed, And from her bright locks shake the pearls of dew, And (for I know the Muse will come along) A song, adorned with every rural charm, The fat of rams, or quintessence of swine. Nor El Dorado vend her golden sheep. And to the mansion house, or council hall, Still on her black splay feet may the huge tortoise crawl. Nor, Bell, thy beer; nor even thy nectar, Jove.. Whom wit and learning charm, can wish no better feast. THE HARES, A FABLE. YES, Es, yes, I grant the sons of earth Are doomed to trouble from their birth : We all of sorrow have our share ; But say, Is your's without compare? Look round the world; perhaps you'll find Each individual of our kind Pressed with an equal load of ill, Equal at least. Look further still, And own your lamentable case In yonder hut, that stands alone, Or view the couch where Sickness lies; To enforce our reasoning with a tale. Mild was the morn, the sky serene, The jolly hunting band convene ; The beagle's breast with ardour burns; The bounding steed the champaign spurns; And fancy oft the game descries Through the hound's nose, and huntsman's eyes. Just then, a council of the hares Had met, on national affairs. The chiefs were set; while o'er their head The furze its frizzled covering spread. Long lists of grievances were heard, "The youth, his parent's sole delight, May yet e'er noontide meet his death, "And lie dismembered on the heath: "For youth, alas! nor cautious age, "Nor strength, nor speed, eludes their rage. "In every field we meet the foe, "Each gale comes fraught with sounds of woe: "The morning but awakes our fears, "The evening sees us bathed in tears. |