My friends! be cautious how ye treat
The fubject upon which we meet ;
I fear we fhall have winter yet.
A Finch, whofe tongue knew no controul,
With golden wing and fattin pole,
A laft year's bird, who ne'er had tried
What marriage means, thus pert replied.
Methinks the gentleman, quoth fhe,
Oppofite in the apple-tree,
By his good will, would keep us fingle
'Till yonder heavʼn and earth shall mingle,
Or, (which is likelier to befall)
'Till death exterminate us all.
marry without more ado,
My dear Dick Redcap, what fay you?
Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling,
Turning short round, ftrutting and fideling,
Attefted, glad, his approbation
Of an immediate conjugation.
Their fentiments fo well exprefs'd,
Influenced mightily the reft,
All pair'd, and each pair built a neft.
But though the birds were thus in haste,
The leaves came on not quite so fast,
And destiny, that fometimes bears
An aspect ftern on man's affairs,
Not altogether fmil'd on theirs.
The wind, of late breath'd gently forth,
Now shifted eaft and eaft by north;
Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know,
Could shelter them from rain or snow,
Stepping into their nefts, they paddled,
Themselves were chill'd, their eggs were addled;
Soon ev'ry father bird and mother
Grew quarrelfome, and peck'd each other,
Parted without the least regret,
Except that they had ever met,
And learn'd, in future, to be wifer,
Than to neglect a good adviser.
'HERE is a field through which I often pass,
Thick overspread with moss and filky grass,
Adjoining close to Kilwick's echoing wood,
Where oft the bitch-fox hides her hapless brood,
Referv'd to folace many a neighb'ring 'fquire,
That he may follow them through brake and briar,
Contufion hazarding of neck or spine,
Which rural gentlemen call fport divine.
A narrow brook, by rushy banks conceal'd,
Runs in a bottom, and divides the field;
Oaks intersperse it, that had once a head,
But now wear crefts of oven-wood instead ;
And where the land flopes to its wat'ry bourn,
Wide yawns a gulph befide a ragged thorn;
Bricks line the fides, but shiver'd long ago,
And horrid brambles intertwine below;
A hollow scoop'd, I judge in ancient time,
For baking earth, or burning rock to lime.
Not yet the hawthorn bore her berries red,
With which the fieldfare, wint'ry gueft, is fed;
Nor autumn yet had brush'd from ev'ry spray,
With her chill hand, the mellow leaves away;
But corn was hous'd, and beans were in the stack,
Now, therefore, iffued forth the spotted pack,
With tails high mounted, ears hung low, and throats
With a whole gamut fill'd of heav'nly notes,
For which, alas! my destiny fevere,
Though ears fhe gave me two, gave me no ear.
The fun, accomplishing his early march,
His lamp now planted on heav'n's topmost arch,
When, exercife and air my only aim,
And heedlefs whither, to that field I came,
Ere yet with ruthless joy the happy hound
Told hill and dale that Reynard's track was found,
Or with the high-rais'd horn's melodious clang
All Kilwick and all Dingle-derry* rang.
Sheep grazed the field; fome with soft bofom prefs'
The herb as foft, while nibbling stray'd the reft;
Nor noife was heard but of the hasty brook,
Struggling, detain'd in many a petty nook.
All feem'd fo peaceful, that from them convey'd
To me, their peace by kind contagion fpread.
* Two woods belonging to John Throckmorton, Efq.
But when the huntsman, with diftended cheek, 'Gan make his inftrument of music speak, And from within the wood that crash was heard, Though not a hound from whom it burst appear'd, "The sheep recumbent, and the sheep that graz'd, All huddling into phalanx, ftood and gaz'd, Admiring, terrified, the novel ftrain,
Then cours'd the field around, and cours'd it round again;
But, recollecting with a sudden thought,
That flight in circles urg'd advanc'd them nought,
They gather'd close around the old pit's brink,
And thought again-but knew not what to think.
The man to folitude accuftom'd long,
Perceives in ev'ry thing that lives, a tongue;
Not animals alone, but fhrubs and trees,
Have fpeech for him, and understood with ease;
After long drought when rains abundant fall,
He hears the herbs and flowers rejoicing all;
Knows what the freshness of their hue implies,
How glad they catch the largess of the skies;
But, with precifion nicer ftill, the mind
He scans of ev'ry loco-motive kind;
Birds of all feather, beafts of ev'ry name,
That serve mankind, or fhun them, wild or tame;
The looks and gestures of their griefs and fears
Have, all, articulation in his ears;
He spells them true by intuition's light, *
And needs no gloffary to fet 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 suppos'd them of fuperior racę ;
Their periwigs of wool, and fears combin'd,
Stamp'd on each countenance fuch marks of mind,
That fage they feem'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, statelier than the reft,
A ram, the ewes and wethers, fad, addrefs'd.
Friends! we have liv'd too long. I never heard
Sounds fuch as these, fo worthy to be fear'd.
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 compos'd, nor fhould appear
For fuch a caufe to feel the flightest fear.
Yourselves 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 ftray'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 carcase, and not quake for fear?
Dæmons produce them doubtlefs, brazen-claw'd
And fang'd with brass the dæmons are abroad;
I hold it, therefore, wifest and most fit,
That, life to fave, we leap into the pit.
Him anfwer'd then his loving mate and true,
But more difcreet than he, a Cambrian ewe.
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