Must be decided by the worth
Of that which call'd his ardour forth.
Trifles purfu'd, whate'er th' event,
Must cause him shame or discontent;
A vicious object still is worse,
Successful there, he wins a curse;
But he, whom ev'n in life's last stage
Endeavours laudable engage,
Is paid, at least in peace of mind,
And sense of having well defign'di
And if, ere he attain his end,
His fun precipitate descend,
A brighter prize than that he meant
Shall recompense his mere intent.
No virtuous wish can bear a date
Either too early or too late.


The green-house is my summer seat;
My shrubs difolac'd from that retreat

Enjoy'd the open air;;:
Two goldfinches, whose sprightly song , .
Had been their mutual solace long, .

Liv'd happy pris'ners there. .; . .,

They fang, as blithe as finches sing
That flutter loose on golden wing,

And frolic where they list;
Strangers to liberty, 'tis true,
But that delight they neyer knew,

And, therefore, never miss'd.

But nature wOrks in ev'ry breast;
Instinct is never quite suppress'd;

And Dick felt some desires,

Which, after many an effort vain,
Instructed him at length to gain
A pass between his wires.

The open windows seem'd to invite
The freeman to a farewell flight;

But Tom was still confin'd; And Dick, although his way was clear, Was much too gen'rous and sincere

To leave his friend behind.

For, fettling on his grated rooft

He chirp'd and kissed him, giving proof

That he desir'd no more; Nor would forsake his cage at last, 'Till gently sciz'd, I shut him fast,

A pris'ner as before.

Oh ye, who never knew the joys
Of Friendship, satisfied with noise,
Fandango, ball and rout!

Blush, when I tell you how a bird,

A prison, with a friend, preferr'd

To liberty without.



I Shall not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau*,
If birds confabulate or no;
'Tis clear that they were always able
To hold discourse, at least, in sable;
And ev'n the child, who knows no better,
Than to interpret by the letter,
A story of a cock and bull,
Must have .a most uncommon skull.

* It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philosopher, that all fab'.cs which ascribe reason and speech to animals should be withheld from children, at being only vehicles of deception. But what child was ever deceived by them, or can be, against the evidence of bis fenses}

It chanc'd then, on a winter's day,
But warm and bright, and calm as May,
The birds, conceiving a design
To forestal sweet St. Valentine,
In many an orchard, copse, and grove,
Assembled on affairs of love,
And with much twitter and much- chatter,
Began to agitate the matter.
At length a Bulfinchi who could boast
More years and wisdom than the most,
Entreated, op'ning wide his beak,
A moment's liberty to speak;
And, silence publicly enjdin'd,
Deliver'd briefly thus his mind.

My friends! be cautious how ye treat
The subject .upon which we meet;
I fear we shall have winter yet.

A Finch, whose tongue knew no control, With golden wing and satin pole,

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