1.Wootton in.

B. Baron f.

A

FABLE XXIX.

The Fox at the point of death.

Fox, in life's extream decay,

Weak, fick and faint, expiring lay;

All appetite had left his maw,

And age difarm'd his mumbling jaw.

His num'rous race around him stand
To learn their dying fire's command;
He rais'd his head with whining moan,
And thus was heard the feeble tone.

Ah fons, from evil ways depart,
My crimes lye heavy on my heart.
See, fee, the murder'd geefe appear!
Why are those bleeding turkeys there?
Why all around this cackling train,
Who haunt my ears for chicken flain?
The hungry foxes round them star'd,
And for the promis'd feast prepar'd.

Where, Sir, is all this dainty cheer?
Nor turkey, goofe, nor hen is here:
These are the phantoms of your brain,
And your fons lick their lips in vain.

O gluttons, fays the drooping fire; Restrain inordinate defire;

Your liqu'rish tafte you shall deplore,
When peace of conscience is no more.
Does not the hound betray our pace,
And gins and guns destroy our race?
Thieves dread the searching eye of power,

And never feel the quiet hour.

Old-age, (which few of us fhall know)
Now puts a period to my woe,
Would you true happiness attain,

Let honefty your paffions rein;
So live in credit and esteem,

And, the good-name you loft, redeem.
The counsel's good, a fox replies,
Could we perform what you advise.
Think, what our ancestors have done;
A line of thieves from fon to fon;
To us defcends the long difgrace,

And infamy hath mark'd our race.

4

1

Though

Though we, like harmless sheep, fhould feed,

Honeft in thought, in word, and deed,

Whatever hen-rooft is decreas'd,

We shall be thought to fhare the feast.
The change shall never be believ❜d,
A lost good-name is ne'er retriev’d.
Nay then, replies the feeble fox,
(But, hark! I hear a hen that clocks)
Go, but be mod'rate in your food;
A chicken too might do me good.

I Wootton in

B. Buren. So

FABLE XXX.

The SETTING-DOG and the PARTRIDGE.

HE ranging Dog the stubble tries,

THE

And searches ev'ry breeze that flies; The scent grows warm; with cautious fear

He creeps, and points the covey near.

The