"Yet worse---'tis a crime that you must not deny, "Your sweets were made.common, false Rose! to

a fly."

MORAL.

This law, long ago, did Love's Providence make,
That ev'ry coquet should be curs'd with a rake.

A FABLE.

A THICK-TWISTED Brake, in the time of a storm,
Seem'd kindly to cover a Sheep;

So snug, for a while, he lay shelter'd and warm,
It quietly sooth'd him asleep.

The clouds are now scatter'd---the winds are at peace, The Sheep to his pasture inclin'd;

But ah! the fell thicket lays hold of his fleece;

His coat's left a forfeit behind.

My Friend! who the thicket of law never try'd,
Consider before you get in!

Tho' judgment and sentence are pass'd on your side,
By Jove you'll be fleec'd to the skin.

THE FOX AND CAT:

A FABLE.

THE Fox and the Cat, as they travell'd one day, With moral discourses cut shorter the way; [guide!" "Tis great," says the Fox, "to make justice our "How godlike is mercy!" Grimalkin reply'd.

While thus they proceeded---a wolf from the wood, Impatient of hunger, and thirsting for blood,

Rush'd forth--
---as he saw the dull shepherd asleep,
And seiz'd for his supper an innocent sheep.

"In vain, wretched Victim! for mercy you bleat;
"When mutton's at hand," says the wolf, "I must

eat."

Grimalkin's astonish'd---the Fox stood aghast,

To see the fell beast at his bloody repast. [brutes! "What a Wretch!" says the Cat---'Tis the vilest of "Does he feed upon flesh when there's herbage---and roots?"

Cries the Fox---" While our oaks give us acorns so good,

"What a tyrant is this to spill innocent blood!" Well, onward they march'd, and they moraliz'd

still,

Till they came where some poultry pick'd chaff by a

mill;

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

A mouse too, that chanc'd from her covert to stray, The greedy Grimalkin secur'd as her prey.

A spider that sat in her web on the wall Perceiv'd the poor victims, and pity'd their fall; She cry'd---" Of such murders how guitless am I!" 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 same.

THE THRUSH AND PIE:

A TALE.

CONCEAL'D Within an hawthorn bush,
We're told that an experienc'd Thrush
Instructed in the prime of spring
Many a neighb'ring bird to sing:
She caroll'd, and her various song
Gave lessons to the list'ning throng:
But (th' entangling boughs between)
'Twas her delight to teach unseen.

At length the little wond'ring race
Would see their fav'rite face to face;
They thought it hard to be deny'd,
And begg'd that she'd no longer hide.
O'er-modest, worth's peculiar fault,
Another shade the tut'ress sought;
And loth to be too much admir'd,
In secret from the bush retir'd.
An impudent presuming Pie,
Malicious, ignorant, and sly,
Stole to the matron's vacant seat,

And, in her arrogance elate,

Rush'd forward---with---" My friends, you see

The mistress of the choir in me;

"Here be your due devotion paid,
"I am the songstress of the shade."
A Linnet that sat list'ning nigh
Made the impostor this reply:
"I fancy, Friend! that vulgar throats
"Were never form'd for warbling notes;
"But if these lessons came from you,
"Repeat them in the public view:
"That your assertions may be clear,
"Let us behold as well as hear.",

The length'ning song, the soft'ning strain,
Our chatt'ring Pie attempts in vain;
For to the fool's eternal shame,

All she could compass was a scream.
The birds, enrag'd, around her fly,

Nor shelter nor defence is nigh:
The caitiff wretch, distress'd---forlorn,
On ev'ry side is peck'd and torn,
Till for her vile atrocious lies

Under their angry beaks she dies.

Such be his fate, whose scoundrel claim
Obtrudes upon a neighbour's fame.
Friend E------, the tale apply,

You are---yourself---the chatt'ring Pie:
Repent, and with a conscious blush,
Go make atonement to the Thrush.