A certain Man, when he had made A sacrifice, for special aid To Hercules, and kill'd a swine, Did for his a.s.s's share a.s.sign All the remainder of the corn; But he, rejecting it with scorn, Thus said: "I gladly would partake-- But apprehend that life's at stake; For he you fatted up and fed With store of this, is stuck and dead."

Struck with the import of this tale, I have succeeded to prevail Upon my pa.s.sions, and abstain, From peril of immod'rate gain.

But, you will say, those that have come Unjustly by a handsome sum, Upon the pillage still subsist-- Why, if we reckon up the list, You'll find by far the major part Have been conducted in the cart: Temerity for some may do, But many more their rashness rue.

V. THE BUFFOON AND COUNTRY-FELLOW.

In ev'ry age, in each profession, Men err the most by prepossession; But when the thing is clearly shown, Is fairly urged, and fully known, We soon applaud what we deride, And penitence succeeds to pride.

A certain n.o.ble, on a day, Having a mind to show away, Invited by reward the mimes And play'rs and tumblers of the times, And built a large commodious stage For the choice spirits of the age: But, above all, amongst the rest There came a genius who profess'd To have a curious trick in store That never was perform'd before.

Through all the town this soon got air, And the whole house was like a fair; But soon his entry as he made, Without a prompter or parade, 'Twas all expectance and suspense, And silence gagg'd the audience.

He, stooping down and looking big, So wondrous well took off a pig, All swore 'twas serious, and no joke, For that, or underneath his cloak He had concealed some grunting elf, Or was a real hog himself.

A search was made--no pig was found-- With thund'ring claps the seats resound, And pit, and box, and gall'ries roar With-- "O rare! bravo!" and "encore."

Old Roger Grouse, a country clown, Who yet knew something of the town, Beheld the mimic of his whim, And on the morrow challenged him Declaring to each beau and belle That he this grunter would excel.

The morrow came--the crowd was greater-- But prejudice and rank ill-nature Usurp'd the minds of men and wenches, Who came to hiss and break the benches.

The mimic took his usual station, And squeak'd with general approbation; Again "Encore! encore!" they cry-- "'Tis quite the thing, 'tis very high."

Old Grouse conceal'd, amidst this racket, A real pig beneath his jacket-- Then forth he came, and with his nail He pinch'd the urchin by the tail.

The tortured pig, from out his throat, Produced the genuine nat'ral note.

All bellow'd out 'twas very sad!

Sure never stuff was half so bad.

"That like a pig!" each cried in scoff; "Pshaw! nonsense! blockhead! off! off! off!"

The mimic was extoll'd, and Grouse Was hiss'd, and catcall'd from the house.

"Soft ye, a word before I go,"

Quoth honest Hodge; and stooping low, Produced the pig, and thus aloud Bespoke the stupid partial crowd: "Behold, and learn from this poor cratur, How much you critics know of natur!"

TO PARTICULO

As yet my muse is not to seek, But can from fresh materials speak; And our poetic fountain springs With rich variety of things.

But you're for sallies short and sweet; Long tales their purposes defeat.

Wherefore, thou worthiest, best of men Particulo, for whom my pen Immortal honour will insure, Long as a rev'rence shall endure For Roman learning--if this strain Cannot your approbation gain, Yet, yet my brevity admire, Which may the more to praise aspire, The more our poets now-a-days Are tedious in their lifeless lays.

VI. THE TWO BALD MEN.

As on his way a Bald-pate went, He found a comb by accident; Another, with a head as bare, Pursued, and hollow'd for a share.

The first produced the prize, and cried, "Good Providence was on our side; But by the strange caprice of Fate, We're to no purpose fortunate; And, as the proverb says, have found A hobnail, for a hundred pound."

They by this tale may be relieved Whose sanguine hopes have been deceived.

VII. PRINCE THE PIPER.

A little, friv'lous, abject mind, Pleased with the rabble, puff'd with wind, When once, as fast as pride presumes, Itself with vanity it plumes, Is by fond lightness brought with ease To any ridicule you please.

One Prince, a piper to the play, Was rather noted in his way, As call'd upon to show his art, Whene'er Bathyllus did his part.

He being at a certain fair, (I do not well remember where,) While they pull'd down the booth in haste, Not taking heed, his leg displaced, He from the scaffold fell so hard-- (Would he his pipes had rather marr'd!

Though they, poor fellow! were to him As dear almost as life and limb).

Borne by the kind officious crowd, Home he's conducted, groaning loud.

Some months elapsed before he found Himself recover'd of his wound: Meantime, according to their way, The droll frequenters of the play Had a great miss of him, whose touch The dancers' spirits raised so much.

A certain man of high renown Was just preparing for the town Some games the mob to entertain, When Prince began to walk again; Whom, what with bribes and pray'rs, his grace Prevail'd upon to show his face In this performance, by all means-- And while he waits behind the scenes, A rumour through the house is spread, By certain, that "the piper's dead."

Others cried out, "The man is here, And will immediately appear."

The curtain draws, the lightnings flash, The G.o.ds speak out their usual trash.

An ode, not to the Piper known, Was to the chorus leader shown, Which he was order'd to repeat, And which was closed with this conceit-- "Receive with joy, O loyal Rome, Thy Prince just rescued from his tomb."

They all at once stand up and clap, At which my most facetious chap Kisses his hand, and sc.r.a.pes and bows To his good patrons in the house.

First the equestrian order smoke The fool's mistake, and high in joke, Command the song to be encored; Which ended, flat upon the board The Piper falls, the knights acclaim; The people think that Prince's aim Is for a crown of bays at least.

Now all the seats perceived the jest, And with his bandage white as snow, White frock, white pumps, a perfect beauty Proud of the feats he had achieved, And these high honours he received, With one unanimous huzza, Poor Prince was kick'd out of the play.

VIII. OPPORTUNITY.

Bald, naked, of a human shape, With fleet wings ready to escape, Upon a razor's edge his toes, And lock that on his forehead grows-- Him hold, when seized, for goodness' sake, For Jove himself cannot retake The fugitive when once he's gone.

The picture that we here have drawn Is Opportunity so brief.-- The ancients, in a bas-relief, Thus made an effigy of Time, That every one might use their prime; Nor e'er impede, by dull delay, Th' effectual business of to-day.

IX. THE BULL AND THE CALF.

A Bull was struggling to secure His pa.s.sage at a narrow door, And scarce could reach the rack of hay, His horns so much were in his way.

A Calf officious, fain would show How he might twist himself and go.

"Hold thou thy prate; all this," says he, "Ere thou wert calved was known to me."

He, that a wiser man by half Would teach, may think himself this Calf.

X. THE OLD DOG AND THE HUNTSMAN.

A Dog, that time and often tried, His master always satisfied; And whensoever he a.s.sail'd, Against the forest-beasts prevail'd Both by activity and strength, Through years began to flag at length.

One day, when hounded at a boar, His ear he seized, as heretofore; But with his teeth, decay'd and old, Could not succeed to keep his hold.

At which the huntsman, much concern'd, The vet'ran huff'd, who thus return'd: "My resolution and my aim, Though not my strength, are still the same; For what I am if I am chid, Praise what I was, and what I did."

Philetus, you the drift perceive Of this, with which I take my leave.

THE END.