Awhile they mused; surveying every face,
Thou hadst supposed them of superior race;
Their periwigs of wool and fears combined,
Stamped on each countenance such marks of mind,
That sage they seemed, as lawyers o'er a doubt,
Which, puzzling long, at last they puzzle out;
Or academic tutors, teaching youths,
Sure ne'er to want them, mathematic truths;
When thus a mutton statelier than the rest,
A ram, the ewes and wethers, sad, addressed:
'Friends! we have lived too long. I never heard
Sounds such as these, so worthy to be feared.
Could I believe, that winds for ages pent

In earth's dark womb have found at last a vent,
And from their prison-house below arise,
With all these hideous howlings to the skies,

I could be much composed, nor should appear,

For such a cause, to feel the slightest fear.
Yourselves have seen, what time the thunders rolled
All night, me resting 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 ass; for he, we know, has lately strayed,
And being lost, perhaps, and wandering wide,
Might be supposed to clamour for a guide.
But ah! those dreadful yells what soul can hear,
That owns a carcass, and not quake for fear?
Demons produce them doubtless, brazen-clawed,
And fanged with brass the demons are abroad;
I hold it therefore wisest and most fit
That, life to save, we leap into the pit.'

Him answered then his loving mate and true,
But more discreet than he, a Cambrian ewe:
'How! leap into the pit our life to save!
To save our life leap all into the grave!
For can we find it less? Contemplate first

The depth, how awful! falling there, we burst:

Or should the brambles, interposed, our fall
In part abate, that happiness were small;
For with a race like theirs no chance I see
Of peace or ease to creatures clad as we.
Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray,
Or be it not, or be it whose it may,

And rush those other sounds, that seem by tongues
Of demons uttered, from whatever lungs,
Sounds are but sounds, and till the cause appear,
We have at least commodious standing here.
Come fiend, come fury, giant, monster, blast
From earth or hell, we can but plunge at last.'
While thus she spake, I fainter heard the peals,
For Reynard, close attended at his heels
By panting dog, tired man, and spattered horse,
Through mere good fortune, took a different course.
The flock grew calm again, and I, the road
Following, that led me to my own abode,
Much wondered that the silly sheep had found
Such cause of terror in an empty sound
So sweet to huntsman, gentleman, and hound.

MORAL.

Beware of desperate steps. The darkest day,
Live till to-morrow, will have passed away.

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THE YEARLY DISTRESS; OR, TITHING TIME, AT STOCK, IN ESSEX.

Verses addressed to a Country Clergyman complaining of the disagreeableness of the day annually appointed for receiving the Dues at the Parsonage.

COME, ponder well, for 'tis no jest,

To laugh it would be wrong,

The troubles of a worthy priest,

The burden of my song.

The dinner comes, and down they sit:
Were e'er such hungry folk?
There's little talking, and no wit;
It is no time to joke.

One wipes his nose upon his sleeve,

One spits upon the floor,

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Yet, not to give offence or grieve,

Holds up the cloth before.

The punch goes round, and they are dull,

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Oh! why are farmers made so coarse,
Or clergy made so fine?

A kick that scarce would move a horse,
May kill a sound divine.

Then let the boobies stay at home;
'Twould cost him, I dare say,
Less trouble taking twice the sum
Without the clowns that pay.

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GRATITUDE.

ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH.

THIS cap, that so stately appears,
With ribbon-bound tassel on high,
Which seems by the crest that it rears
Ambitious of brushing the sky:
This cap to my cousin I owe,

She gave it, and gave me beside,
Wreathed into an elegant bow,

The ribbon with which it is tied.

This wheel-footed studying chair,

Contrived both for toil and repose, Wide-elbowed, and wadded with hair, In which I both scribble and dose, Bright-studded to dazzle the eyes, And rival in lustre of that

In which, or astronomy lies,

Fair Cassiopeïa sat:

These carpets, so soft to the foot,
Caledonia's traffic and pride!

Oh spare them, ye knights of the boot,
Escaped from a cross country ride!

This table and mirror within,

Secure from collision and dust,

At which I oft shave cheek and chin,
And periwig nicely adjust:

This moveable structure of shelves,

For its beauty admired and its use,

And charged with octavos and twelves,
The gayest I had to produce;
Where, flaming in scarlet and gold,

My poems enchanted I view,

And hope, in due time, to behold

My Iliad and Odyssey too:

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IO

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