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He gave him knowledge, taste and sense,
And courage, for the fair's defence.
Her frame, resistless to each wrong,
Demands protection from the strong;
To man she flies, when fear alarms,
And claims the temple of his arms.

By Nature's author thus declar'd
The woman's sov'reign, and her guard,
Shall man, by treach'rous wiles, invade
The weakness he was meant to aid?
While beauty, given to inspire
Protecting love, and soft desire,
Lights up a wild-fire in the heart,
And to its own breast points the dart,
Becomes the spoiler's base pretence
To triumph over innocence?

The wolf, that tears the tim'rous sheep,
Was never set the fold to keep;
Nor was the tiger, or the pard
Meant the benighted trav'ller's guard;
But man, the wildest beast of prey,
Wears friendship's semblance, to betray;
His strength against the weak employs,
And where he should protect, destroys.

"PAST twelve o'clock," the watchman cry'd,
His brief the studious lawyer ply'd;
The all-prevailing fee lay nigh,
The earnest of to morrow's lie.
Sudden the furious winds arise,
The jarring casement shatter'd flies;
The doors admit a hollow sound,
And rattling from their hinges bound;
When Justice, in a blaze of light,
Reveal'd her radiant form to sight.

The wretch with thrilling horrour shook,
Loose every joint, and pale his look;
Not having seen her in the courts,
Or found her mention'd in Reports,
He ask'd, with falt'ring tongue, her name,
Her errand there, and whence she came?
Sternly the white-rob'd Shade reply'd,
(A crimson glow her visage dy'd)
"Canst thou be doubtful who I am?
Is Justice grown so strange a name?
Were not your courts for Justice rais'd?
'Twas there, of old, my altars blaz'd.
My guardian thee did I elect,
My sacred temple to protect,
That thou, and all thy venal tribe

Should spurn the goddess for the bribe?
Aloud the ruin'd client cries,

Justice has neither cars, nor eyes;'
In foul alliance with the bar,
'Gainst me the judge denounces war,
And rarely issues his decree,

But with intent to baffle me."

She paus'd. Her breast with fury burn'd.
The trembling Lawyer thus return'd.

"I own the charge is justly laid,
And weak th' excuse that can be made;
Yet search the spacious globe, and see
If all mankind are not like me.

"The gown-man, skill'd in Romish lies,
By faith's false glass deludes our eyes;
O'er conscience rides without control,
And robs the man to save his soul.
"The doctor, with important face,

By sly design, mistakes the case;

Prescribes, and spins out the disease,
To trick the patient of his fees.

"The soldier, rough with many a scar,
And red with slaughter, leads the war;
If he a nation's trust betray,
The foe has offer'd double pay.

"When vice o'er all mankind prevails, And weighty int'rest turns the scales, Must I be better than the rest, And harbour Justice in my breast? On one side only take the fee, Content with poverty and thee?"

"Thou blind to sense, and vile of mind," Th' exasperated Shade rejoin'd,

"If virtue from the world is flown,
Will others' frauds excuse thy own?

For sickly souls the priest was made;
Physicians, for the body's aid;
The soldier guarded liberty;
Man woman, and the lawyer me.
If all are faithless to their trust,
They leave not thee the less unjust.
Henceforth your pleadings I disclaim,
And bar the sanction of my name;
Within your courts it shall be read,
That Justice from the law is filed."

She spoke; and hid in shades her face, Till Hardwicke sooth'd her into grace.

FABLE IX.

THE FARMER, THE SPANIEL, AND THE CAT.

WHY knits my dear her angry brow?
What rude offence alarms you now?
I said, that Delia's fair, 'tis true,
But did I say she equall'd you?
Can't I another's face commend,
Or to her virtues be a friend,
But instantly your forehead lours,
As if her merit lessen'd yours?
From female envy never free,
All must be blind, because you see.

Survey the gardens, fields, and bow'rs,
The buds, the blossoms, and the flow`rs,
Then tell me where the woodbine grows,
That vies in sweetness with the rose?
Or where the lily's snowy white,
That throws such beauties on the sight?
Yet folly is it to declare,

That these are neither sweet, nor fair.
The crystal shines with fainter rays,
Before the di'mond's brighter blaze;
And fops will say, the di'mond dies,
Before the lustre of your eyes:
But I, who deal in truth, deny
That neither shine when you are by.
When zephyrs o'er the blossoms stray,
And sweets along the air convey,
Sha'n't I the fragrant breeze inhale,
Because you breathe a sweeter gale?

Sweet are the flow'rs, that deck the field;
Sweet is the smell the blossoms yield;
Sweet is the summer gale that blows;
And sweet, though sweeter you, the rose.
Shall envy then torment your breast,
If you are lovelier than the rest!
For while I give to each her due,
By praising them I flatter you;

And, praising most, I still declare You fairest, where the rest are fair.

As at his board a Farmer sate,
Replenish'd by his homely treat,
His fav'rite Spaniel near him stood,
And with his master shar'd the food;
The crackling bones his jaws devour'd,
His lapping tongue the trenchers scour'd;
Till sated now, supine he lay,
And snor'd the rising fumes away.

The hungry Cat, in turn, drew near,
And humbly crav'd a servant's share;
Her modest worth the master knew,
And straight the fatt'ning morsel threw:
Enrag'd the snarling cur awoke,
And thus, with spiteful envy, spoke.
"They only claim a right to eat,
Who earn by services their meat.
Me, zeal and industry inflame

To scour the fields, and spring the game;
Or, plunging in the wintry wave,
For man the wounded bird to save.
With watchful diligence I keep,
From prowling wolves, his fleecy sheep;
At home his midnight hours secure,
And drive the robber from the door.
For this, his breast with kindness glows;
For this, his hand the food bestows;
And shall thy indolence impart
A warmer friendship to his heart,
That thus he robs me of my due,
To pamper such vile things as you?"
"I own," with meekness Puss reply'd,
Superior merit on your side;

Nor does my breast with envy swell,
To find it recompens'd so well;
Yet I, in what my nature can,
Contribute to the good of man.

Whose claws destroy the pilf'ring mouse?
Who drives the vermin from the house?
Or, watchful for the lab'ring swain,
From lurking rats secures the grain?
From hence, if he rewards bestow,
Why should your heart with gall o'erflow?
Why pine my happiness to see,

Since there's enough for you and me?"

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Thy words are just," the Farmer cry'd, And spurn'd the snarler from his side.

FABLE X.

THE SPIDER AND THE BEE.

THE nymph, who walks the public streets,
And sets her cap at all she meets,
May catch the fool who turns to stare,
But men of sense avoid the snare.
As on the margin of the flood,
With silken line, my Lydia stood,
I smil'd to see the pains you took,
To cover o'er the fraudful hook.
Along the forest as we stray'd,

You saw the boy his lime-twigs spread;
Guess'd you the reason of his fear,

Lest, heedless, we approach'd too near? For as behind the bush we lay,

The linnet flutter'd on the spray.

Needs there such caution to delude The scaly fry, and feather'd brood? And think you, with inferior art, To captivate the human heart?

The maid, who modestly conceals Her beauties, while she hides, reveals. Give but a glimpse, and Fancy draws Whate'er the Grecian Venus was. From Eve's first fig-leaf to brocade, All dress was meant for Fancy's aid, Which evermore delighted dwells On what the bashful nymph concea's. When Calia struts in man's attire, She shows too much to raise desire; But from the hoop's bewitching round, Her very shoe has power to wound. The roving eye, the bosom bare, The forward laugh, the wanton air, May catch the fop; for gudgeons strike At the bare hook, and bait, alike; While salmon play regardless by, Till art, like nature, forms the fly.

BENEATH a peasant's homely thatch,
A Spider long had held her watch;
From morn to night, with restless care,
She spun her web, and wove her snare.
Within the limits of her reign

Lay many a heedless captive slain,
Or, flutt'ring, struggled in the toils,
To burst the chains, and shun her wiles.
A straying Bee, that perch'd hard by,
Beheld her with disdainful eye,
And thus began. "Mean thing, give o'er,
And lay thy slender threads no more;
A thoughtless fly or two, at most,
Is all the conquest thou canst boast;
For bees of sense thy arts evade,
We see so plain the nets are laid.

"The gaudy tulip, that displays
Her spreading foliage to the gaze;
That points her charins at all she sees,
And yields to every wanton breeze,
Attracts not me: where blushing grows,
Guarded with thorns, the modest rose,
Enamour'd, round and round I fly,
Or on her fragrant bosom lie;
Reluctant, she my ardour meets,
And bashful, renders up her sweets."
To wiser heads attention lend,
And learn this lesson from a friend.
She, who with modesty retires,
Adds fuel to her lover's fires,
While such incautious jilts as you,
By folly your own schemes undo.

FABLE XI.

THE YOUNG LION AND THE APE.

"Tis true, I blame your lover's choice,
Though flatter'd by the public voice,
And peevish grow, and sick, to hear
His exclamations, "O how fair!"
I listen not to wild delights,
And transports of expected nights:
What is to me your hoard of charms?
The whiteness of your neck and arms?

Needs there no acquisition more,
To keep contention from the door?
Yes; pass a fortnight, and you 'll find
All beauty cloys, but of the mind.

Sense and good-humour ever prove
The surest cords to fasten love.
Yet, Phillis, simplest of your sex,
You never think but to perplex,
Coquetting it with every ape,
That struts abroad in human shape;
Not that the coxcomb is your taste,
But that it stings your lover's breast:
To morrow you resign the sway,
Prepar'd to honour, and obey,
The tyrant-mistress change for life,
To the submission of a wife.
Your follies, if you can, suspend,
And learn instruction from a friend.
Reluctant, hear the first address,
Think often, ere you answer, yes;
But once resolv'd, throw off disguise,
And wear your wishes in your eyes.
With caution every look forbear,
That might create one jealous fear,
A lover's ripening hopes confound,
Or give the generous breast a wound.
Contemn the girlish arts to teaze,
Nor use your pow'r, unless to please;
For fools alone with rigour sway,
When, soon or late, they must obey.

THE king of brutes, in life's decline,
Resolv'd dominion to resign;
The beasts were summon'd to appear,
And bend before the royal heir.

They came; a day was fix'd; the crowd
Before their future monarch bow'd.

A dapper Monkey, pert and vain,
Stepp'd forth, and thus address'd the train.
"Why cringe my friends with slavish awe,
Before this pageant king of straw?
Shali we anticipate the hour,
And ere we feel it, own his power?
The counsels of experience prize,
I know the maxims of the wise;
Subjection let us cast away,
And live the monarchs of to day;
'Tis ours the vacant hand to spurn,
And play the tyrant each in turn.
So shall he right from wrong discern,
And mercy from oppression learn;
At others' woes be taught to melt,
And loath the ills himself has felt."

He spoke; his bosom swell'd with pride. The youthful Lion thus reply'd.

"What madness prompts thee to provoke My wrath, and dare th' impending stroke? Thou wretched fool! can wrongs impart Compassion to the feeling heart? Or teach the grateful breast to glow, The hand to give, or eye to flow? Learn'd in the practice of their schools, From women thou hast drawn thy rules: To them return; in such a cause, From only such expect applause; The partial sex I not condemn, For liking those, who copy them. Would'st thou the generous Lion bind, By kindness bribe him to be kind;

Good offices their likeness get,
And payment lessens not the debt;
With multiplying hand he gives
The good, from others he receives:
Or for the bad makes fair return,
And pays, with interest, scorn for scorn.

FABLE XII.

THE COLT AND THE FARMER.

TELL me, Corinna, if you can,
Why so averse, so coy to man?
Did Nature, lavish of her care,
From her best pattern form you fair,
That you, ungrateful to her cause,
Should mock her gifts, and spurn her laws?
And miser-like, withhold that store,
Which, by imparting, blesses more?

Beauty's a gift, by Heav'n assign'd,
The portion of the female kind;
For this the yielding maid demands
Protection at her lover's hands;
And though by wasting years it fade,
Remembrance tells him, once 'twas paid.

And will you then this wealth conceal,
For age to rust, or time to steal?
The summer of your youth to rove,
A stranger to the joys of love?
Then, when life's winter hastens on,
And youth's fair heritage is gone,
Dow'rless to court some peasant's arms,
To guard your wither'd age from harms;
No gratitude to warm his breast,
For blooming beauty, once possess'd;
How will you curse that stubborn pride,
Which drove your bark across the tide,
And sailing before folly's wind,
Left sense and happiness behind?

Corinna, lest these whims prevail, To such as you, I write my tale.

A COLT, for blood, and mettled speed,
The choicest of the running breed,
Of youthful strength, and beauty vain,
Refus'd subjection to the rein.

In vain the groom's officious skill
Oppos'd his pride, and check'd his will:
In vain the master's forming care
Restrain'd with threats, or sooth'd with pray'r;
Of freedom proud, and scorning man,
Wild o'er the spacious plains he ran.

Where'er luxuriant Nature spread
Her flow'ry carpet o'er the mead,
Or bubbling streams soft-gliding pass,
To cool and freshen up the grass,
Disdaining bounds, he cropp'd the blade,
And wanton'd in the spoil be made.

In plenty thus the summer pass'd,
Revolving winter came at last;
The trees no more a shelter yield,
The verdure withers from the field,
Perpetual snows invest the ground,
In icy chains the streams are bound;
Cold, nipping winds, and rattling hail,
His lank, unshelter'd sides assail.

As round he cast his rueful eyes,
He saw the thatch'd-roof cottage rise;

The prospect touch'd his heart with cheer,
And promis'd kind deliv'rance near.
A stable, erst his scorm and hate,
Was now become his wish'd retreat;
His passion cool, his pride forgot,
A Farmer's welcome yard he sought.
The master saw his woful plight,
His limbs, that totter'd with his weight,
And, friendly, to the stable led,

And saw him litter'd, dress'd, and fed.
In slothful ease all night he lay;
The servants rose at break of day;.
The market calls. Along the road
His back must bear the pond'rous load;
In vain he struggles, or complains,
Incessant blows reward his pains.
To morrow varies but his toil;

Chain'd to the plough, he breaks the soil;
While scanty meals, at night, repay
The painful labours of the day.

Subdu'd by toil, with anguish rent,
His self-upbraidings found a vent.
"Wretch that I am!" he sighing said,
"By arrogance and folly led,

Had but my restive youth been brought
To learn the lesson Nature taught,
Then had I, like my sires of yore,
The prize from every courser bore;
While man bestow'd rewards, and praise,
And females crown'd my latter days.
Now lasting servitude 's my lot,
My birth contemn'd, my speed forgot,
Doom'd am I, for my pride, to bear
A living death, from year to year."

FABLE XIII

THE

OWL AND THE NIGHTINGALE.

To know the mistress' humour right,
See if her maids are clean and tight;
If Betty waits without her stays,
She copies but her lady's ways.

When miss comes in with boist'rous shout,
And drops no curtsy going out,
Depend upon 't, mamma is one,
Who reads, or drinks too much alone.
If bottled beer her thirst assuage,
She feels enthusiastic rage,
And burns with ardour to inherit
The gifts, and workings of the spirite
If learning crack her giddy brains,
No remedy, but death, remains.
Sum up the various ills of life,
And all are sweet, to such a wife.
At home, superior wit she vaunts,
And twits her husband with his wants;
Her ragged offspring all around,
Like pigs, are wallowing on the ground:
Impatient ever of control,

She knows no order, but of soul ;
With books her litter'd floor is spread,
Of nameless authors, never read;
Foul linen, petticoats, and lace
Fill up the intermediate space.
Abroad, at visitings, her tongue
Is never still, and always wrong;

All meanings she defines away,
And stands, with truth and sense, at bay.
If e'er she meets a gentle heart,
Skill'd in the housewife's useful art,
Who makes her family her care,
And builds Contentment's temple there,
She starts at such mistakes in Nature,
And cries," Lord help us! what a creature!"
Melissa, if the moral strike,
You'll find the fable not unlike.

AN Owl, puff'd up with self-conceit,
Lov'd learning better than his meat;
Old manuscripts he treasur'd up,
And rummag'd every grocer's shop;
At pastry-cooks was known to ply,
And strip, for science, every pie.
For modern poetry and wit,

He had read all that Blackmore writ;
So intimate with Curl was grown,
His learned treasures were his own;
To all his authors had access,
And sometimes would correct the press.
In logic he acquir'd such knowledge,
You'd swear him fellow of a college;
Alike to every art and science,
His daring genius bid defiance,
And swallow'd wisdom, with that haste,
That cits do custards at a feast.

Within the shelter of a wood,
One ev'ning, as he musing stood,
Hard by, upon a leafy spray,
A Nightingale began his lay.
Sudden he starts, with anger stung,
And, screeching, interrupts the song.
"Pert, busy thing, thy airs give o'er,
And let my contemplation soar.
What is the music of thy voice,
But jarring dissonance and noise?
Be wise. True harmony, thou 'lt find,
Not in the throat, but in the mind;
By empty chirping not attain'd,
But by laborious study gain'd.
Go read the authors Pope explodes,
Fathom the depth of Cibber's odes,
With modern plays improve thy wit,
Read all the learning Henley writ;
And, if thou needs must sing, sing then,
And emulate the ways of men;
So shalt thou grow, like me, refin'd,
And bring improvement to thy kind."

"Thou wretch," the little warbler cry'd,
"Made up of ignorance and pride,
Ask all the birds, and they 'll declare,
A greater blockhead wings not air.
Read o'er thyself, thy talents scan,
Science was only meant for man.
No useless authors me molest,
I mind the duties of my nest;
With careful wing protect my young,
And cheer their ev'nings with a song.

"Thus, following Nature, and her laws, From men and birds I claim applause; While, nurs'd in pedantry and sloth, An Owl is scorn'd alike by both."

END OF FABLES FOR THE LADIES.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

A HYMN TO POVERTY.

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O POVERTY! thou source of human art,
Thou great inspirer of the poet's song
In vain Apollo dictates, and the Nine
Attend in vain, unless thy mighty hand
Direct the tuneful lyre. Without thy aid
The canvass breathes no longer. Music's charms,
Uninfluenc'd by thee, forget to please:
Thou giv'st the organ sound; by thee the flute
Breathes harmony; the tuneful viol owns
Thy pow'rful touch. The warbling voice is thine:
Thou gav'st to Nicolini every grace,
And every charm to Farinelli's song.

By thee the lawyer pleads. The soldier's arm
Is nerv'd by thee. Thy pow'r the gownman feels,
And, urg'd by thee, unfolds Heav'n's mystic truths.
The haughty fair, that swells with proud disdain,
And smiles at mischiefs, which her eyes have made,
Thou humblest to submit and bless mankind.

Hail, pow'r omnipotent! Me uninvok'd
Thou deign'st to visit, far, alas! unfit
To bear thy awful presence. O, retire!
At distance let me view thee; lest, too nigh,
I sink beneath the terrours of thy face!

THE LOVER AND THE FRIEND.
THOU, for whom my lyre I string,
Of whom I speak, and think, and sing!
Thou constant object of my joys,
Whose sweetness every wish employs!
Thou dearest of thy sex attend,
And hear the lover and the friend.

Fear not the poet's flatt'ring strain;
No idle praise my verse shall stain;
The lowly numbers shall impart
The faithful dictates of my heart,
Nor humble modesty offend,
And part the lover from the friend.

Not distant is the cruel day,

That tears me from my hopes away;
Then frown not, fairest, if I try
To steal the moisture from your eye,
Or force your heart a sigh to send,
To mourn the lover and the friend.

No perfect joy my life e'er knew,
But what arose from love and you;
Nor can I fear another pain

Than your unkindness or disdain :
Then let your looks their pity lend,
To cheer the lover and the friend.

Whole years I strove against the flame,
And suffer'd ills, that want a name;
Yet still the painful secret kept,
And to myself in silence wept ;
Till grown unable to contend,

I own'd the lover and the friend.

I saw you still. Your gen'rous heart In all my sorrows bore a part;

Yet while your eyes with pity glow'd,
No words of hope your tongue bestow'd,
But mildly bid me cease to blend
The name of lover with the friend.

Sick with desire, and mad with pain,
I seek for happiness in vain:
Thou lovely maid, to thee I cry,
Heal me with kindness, or I die!
From sad despair my soul defend,
And fix the lover and the friend.

Curs'd be all wealth that can destroy
My utmost hope of earthly joy!
Thy gifts, O Fortune! I resign,
Let her and poverty be mine!
And every year that life shall lend,
Shall bless the lover and the friend.

In vain, alas! in vain I strive
To keep a dying hope alive;
The last sad remedy remains,
'Tis absence that must heal my pains,
Thy image from my bosom rend,
And force the lover from the friend.

Vain thought! though seas between us roll,
Thy love is rooted in my soul;

The vital blood that warms my heart
With thy idea must depart.

And Death's decisive stroke must end
At once the lover and the friend.

SONGS.

SONG I.

THUS I said to my heart, in a pet t' other day,
"I had rather be hang'd than go moping this way;
No throbbings, no wishes your moments employ,
But you sleep in my breast without motion or joy.
"When Chloe perplex'd me 'twas sweeter by half,
And at Thais's wiles I could often-times laugh;
Your burnings and achings I strove not to cure,
Though one was a jilt, and the other a whore.

"When I walk'd up the Mall, or stroll'd through the street,

Not a petticoat brush'd me, but then you could beat,
Or if bang went the hoop against corner or post,
In the magical round you were sure to be lost.

"But now if a nymph goes as naked as Eve,
Like Adam, unfallen, you never perceive;
Or the seat of delight if the tippet should hide,
You tempt not my fingers to draw it aside.

"Is it caution, or dread, or the frost of old age,
That inclines you with beauty no more to engage?
Tell me quickly the cause, for it makes me quite mad,
In the summer's gay season to see you so sad."

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