_The Cat and an old Rat._

I've heard, and if it be a Lie, You have it e'en as cheap as I; That a huge Cat of mighty Name, A second _Rodilard_ for Fame, The _Alexander_ of the Cats; An _Attila_, a scourge to Rats, Had brought such horrid devastation, And Mischief on the latter Nation; 'Twas thought he would depopulate The World, and swallow every Rat.

The long Tailed Gentry, far and near, Are all possess'd with so much fear, That there's not one in six Miles round, That dares to venture above ground; Their b.l.o.o.d.y minded Enemy Is sorry, that they're grown so shy.

In vain he watch'd, and lurk'd about, The De'l a bit as one came out.

Says he, the Scoundrels are alive, I hear 'em stir, and must contrive To draw 'em out; for, where they dwell, I'm sure, they're uncomatable.

At that he gets upon a Shelf, And to a String he hangs himself By one Foot, dangling with his Head Downward, as if he had been dead.

The Rats all thought, he had been taken At stealing Cheese, or gnawing Bacon; Perhaps he might have foul'd the Bed, Murder'd a Bird; or, that he had Committed any other Evil, By instigation of the Devil, Or his own more malicious Nature; For which they'd hang'd the wicked Creature.

The Prisoners, who wanted Bread Thank'd Heaven, and were very glad.

They show their Snouts, and now begin To peep out and pop back again; Till growing bold they leave their home, And scamper up and down the Room.

Down comes the treacherous Malefactor, Who rais'd to Life without a Doctor.

Fell with such rage about their House Each Blow kill'd either Rat or Mouse; Some made Resistance, but in vain, The Ground is cover'd with the slain, Such Execution did his Claw, But when the cunning Warrior saw, The nimble ones go off in Sholes, And get within their crooked Holes, He call'd to 'em, for all your haste, I know, you'll come to me at last.

This trick you never knew before, But I can shew you hundred more.

He'd kill'd enough to live upon Some few Days; but when that was gone, He kept his Word, and wheedled 'em With quite another Stratagem.

He jump'd into a Tub of Flower, And there stood powd'ring half an hour, 'Till thinking he was dawbd enough, He walks into an open trough Where lying snug as white as Snow, And roul'd up like a piece of Dough, He waits the Starvlings coming to'm, And now and then he pick'd up some.

But an old Rat, who full of Scars, Had lost his Tail in former Wars; Standing at th' Entrance of the Cave, Call'd to our Cat. You, Mr. Knave, Your Hanging or your Flower won't do, I know your Tricks as well as you.

You was a Cat, and are so still: Change to what form or shape you will: Nay be a Log, I wont come nigh't.

Says th' other, Faith he's in the right.

And wisely knows, distrust to be The Mother of Security.

_The Weasel and the Rat._

A Hungry Weasel poor and lank, With wrinkled Jaws, and Taper Flank, Hardly recover'd from her Weakness, Occasion'd by a Fit of Sickness.

Met with a Granary, and stole Into it thro' a little Hole.

She bless'd herself to see the store, No Miser sure could covet more: And, thinking n.o.body could harm her, Fell to, and fed like any Farmer.

At Nights she slept, and snor'd at Ease, And having Peace and Quietness, Four Meals a Day, a wholesome Air, A dainty Diet, little Care, She quickly chang'd her meagre Feature, And look'd like quite another Creature.

The Truth is, it would be a hard Case, If all this should not mend one's Carca.s.s.

Once, sitting at a Dish of Wheat, She heard a Noise, forsook her Meat, Ran to the Hole to save her Bacon, Squeez'd to get thro'; but was mistaken.

And as she searches all about, And finds no Crevish to get out, She spies a Rat, and tells him, pray What must I do, I've lost my way, Which is the Hole? No, says the Rat, Your way is right; but y'are too Fat.

Stay but a Week, and fast, good Dame, } Till y'are as lean, as when you came, } And then you'll find the Hole's the same. }

The Moral.

A _Man in profitable Station, Grown rich by Plundering the Nation, Is often willing to resign, But seldom to refund the Coin_.

_The Wolf and the Stork._

Wolves commonly are fam'd for Eating, As much, as Foxes are for Cheating.

One of 'em, at a Mutton Feast, Devour'd his Meat with so much haste; A Bone got in his Throat, and there Stuck fast; some Learned Authors swear, It was the _Os Sacrum_; others say, It was one of the _Vertebrae_.

But hang disputes; since it is all one What Bone it was; so 'twas no small one.

There stood Sir Wolf, and full of Grief Made signs he wanted quick Relief.

And well it was he could not Cry; For no Soul would have come a nigh.

At last he shews it to a Stork, The long-leg'd Surgeon goes to Work; Takes out the Bone immediately; And when 'twas done, desir'd his Fee.

Sure, says the Wolf, whoever draws His Head out harmless from my Jaws, May boast of such a Happiness, As far o'erpays all Offices; A thing which ne'er was done before, And may be, ne'er will happen more.

But O d.a.m.n'd Vice Ingrat.i.tude!

To scape with Life, and be so rude, As to ask Fees! take care young Man, You never see my Face again.

The Moral.

_Some Folks are so mischievous grown, They claim Thanks if they let y' alone._

_The Frogs asking for a King._

The Frogs, after some Ages spent In Democratick Government, Grew weary of it, and agree, To change it for a Monarchy; And humbly begg'd a King of _Jove_, The G.o.d comply'd, and from above Dropt 'em a very peaceful one; But only in the falling down, He made such Noise, that all the Frogs, Who are but fearful skittish Dogs Were frighted and drove under Water, And there remain'd a good while after, Among the Weeds; their fear was such, There was not one, that dar'd so much As look upon him, whom they thought Some Giant, or the Lord knows what.

Tho' all this while 'twas but a Log, At last came up a daring Frog; But took care, not to swim too nigh it, Till, seeing it lay so very quiet, He went on, tho' in mighty awe; But when his Fellow Subjects saw Their Bulky King did him no harm, In half an Hour the Pond did swarm Of Frogs. O! what a pretty thing It was to play about their King: The meekest that e'er wore a Crown; And soon they're so familiar grown, That laying all respect aside, They jump upon his Back, and ride.

The King says nothing, keeps his Peace, And let's em work him as they please.

But this they hate, they'd have him move.

A second time they call on _Jove_, And tire his Brain with clam'rous rout, To have a King, that stirr'd about.

_Jove_ mad for being plagu'd again, Sends em a d.a.m.n'd devouring Crane; Who only was for Kill, and Slay, And eat whoe'er came in his way.

Much louder now the Rascals cry; Deliver us from Tyranny!

O _Jupiter_! if he goes on, } We shall be murder'd every one, } This is the Devil upon dun. } Quoth he, I'll humour Fools no more, You might have kept what ye had before; You left your common wealth, to seek A King; and then he was too meek; You must have one forsooth, that stirs: I hope now you have got one, Sirs.

You never chang'd without a Curse, Keep this, for fear you get a worse.

The Moral.

_Thank G.o.d, this Fable is not meant } To_ Englishmen; _they are content, } And hate to change their Government._ }

_The Wolf and the Lamb._

It is a thing without contest, That he that's strongest reasons best.

The Weather being sultry hot, A Lamb to cool himself, was got A paddling in a purling Stream.

(To Rhiming Fools a mighty Theme) When a she Wolf (the De'l sure sent her) Came down, in quest of some Adventure, And hardly spy'd poor Innocence; But pick'd a Quarrel void of Sence; Began to sputter, d.a.m.n and Sink, Ask'd how he dar'd to spoil her Drink, A nasty poysoning Dog. Odsbud!

He'd make it all as thick as mud.

For which he'd punish him by _Jove_.

Madam, reply'd the Lamb, I love To reason calmly, and will show ye, That I am Twenty Yards below ye.

And humbly craving leave, from thence I draw this reg'lar Consequence; That I can't, standing in this Place, Disturb the Liquor of your Grace.

You do, says the other, and last Year You told some lies of me. I swear, I was not born then, quoth the Lamb: I han't left sucking of my Dam.

'Twas either you or else your Brother.

I've ne'er a one. Then 'twas your Mother, Or any other near Relation; For all your wicked Generation Hates me; your Dogs and Shepherds too And without any more a do, The Lamb was carry'd to the Wood And serv'd the cruel Wolf for Food.