THE

FOX AND THE CAT.

A FABLE.

THE

HE Fox and the Cat, as they travell❜d one day,

With moral difcourfes cut fhorter the way: 'Tis great (fays the Fox) to make juftice our ' guide!'

"How godlike is mercy!' Grimalkin reply'd.

Whilft thus they proceeded,-a Wolf from the wood,

Impatient of hunger, and thirsting for blood, Rufh'd forth-as he faw the dull fhepherd afleep, And feiz'd for his fupper an innocent Sheep.

• In vain,

*In vain, wretched victim, for mercy you bleat, "When mutton's at hand, (fays the Wolf). I • muft eat.'

Grimalkin's aftonish'd, -the Fox ftood aghast, To fee the fell beaft at his bloody repaft. "What a wretch, (fays the Cat)-'tis the vileft • of brutes:

Does he feed upon flesh, when there's herbage, "and roots?'

Cries the Fox- While our oaks give us acorns • fo good,

"What a tyrant is this, to fpill innocent blood?"

Well, onward they march'd, and they moraliz'd ftill,

'Till they came where fome poultry pick'd chaff by a mill;;

Sly Reynard furvey'd them with gluttonous eyes, And made (spite of morals) a pullet his prize.

A Moufe too, that chanc'd from her covert to ftray,

The greedy Grimalkin fecur'd as her prey.

A Spider that fat in her web on the wall, Perceiv'd the poor victims, and pity'd their

fall;

L. 2

She

So ran to regale on a new taken fly.

MORAL.

The faults of our neighbours with freedom we blame,

But tax not ourselves, tho' we practise the fame.

HYMEN.

HRENH

HYME N.

HEN Chloe, with a blush comply'd,
To be the fond Nicander's bride,

WH

His wild imagination ran

On raptures never known by man..
How high the tides of fancy fwell,,
Expreffion must despair to tell..

A painter call'd,Nicander cries,. "Defcending from the radiant skies, "Draw me a bright, a beauteous boy, "The herald of connubial joy! "Draw him with all peculiar care, "Make him beyond Adonis fair;

"Give to his cheeks a rofeate hue,
"Let him have eyes of heav'nly blue,
"Lips foft'ning in nectarious dew;
"A luftre o'er his charms difplay,
"More glorious than the beams of day.
"Expect, Sir, if you can fucceed,
"A premium for a Prince indeed."

His talents ftreight the painter try'd,
And ere the nuptial knot was ty'd,
A picture in the nobleft tafte
Before the fond Nicander plac'd.

The lover thus arraign'd his fkill, "Your execution's monft'rous ill! "A different form my fancy made; "You're quite a bungler at the trade. "Where is the robe's luxuriant flow? "Where is the cheek's cæleftial glow? "Where are the looks fo fond and free? "'Tis not an Hymen, Sir, for me.”

The painter bow'd-with this reply, "My colours an't, your Honour, dry; "When time has mellow'd ev'ry tint, "Twill please you-or the deuce is in't: "I'll watch the happy change, and then "Attend you with my piece again."

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