Must be decided by the worth Of that which call'd his ardour forth. Trifles purfu'd, whate'er th' event, Must cause him fhame or difcontent; A vicious object still is worse, Successful there, he wins a curse; But he, whom ev'n in life's last stage Is paid, at least in peace of mind, A brighter prize than that he meant THE FAITHFUL FRIEND. THE green-house is my fummer feat; My fhrubs difplac'd from that retreat Two goldfinches, whofe fprightly fong Liv'd happy pris'ners there. They fang, as blithe as finches fing And frolic where they lift; Strangers to liberty, 'tis true, But that delight they never knew, And, therefore, never mifs'd. But nature works in ev'ry breast; And Dick felt fome defires, 劃 1 Which, after many an effort vain, Inftructed him at length to gain A pafs between his wires. The open windows feem'd to invite The freeman to a farewell flight; But Tom was ftill confin'd; And Dick, although his way was clear, Was much too gen'rous and fincere To leave his friend behind. For, fettling on his grated roof; He chirp'd and kifs'd him, giving proof That he defir'd no more; Nor would forfake his cage at last, 'Till gently feiz'd, I shut him fast, A pris'ner as before. Oh ye, who never knew the joys Blush, when I tell you how a bird, A prison, with a friend, preferr'd To liberty without. PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED. A FABLE. I SHALL not afk Jean Jacques Rouffeau' If birds confabulate or no; 'Tis clear that they were always able To hold discourse, at least, in fable; And ev❜n the child, who knows no better, Than to interpret by the letter, A ftory of a cock and bull, Muft have a most uncommon skull. *It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philofopher, that all fables which afcribe reason and speech to animals fhould be withheld from children, as being only vehicles of deception. But what child was ever deceived by them, or can be, against the evidence of his fenfes? It chanc'd then, on a winter's day, But warm and bright, and calm as May, The birds, conceiving a defign To foreftal fweet St. Valentine, In many an orchard, copfe, and grove, Affembled on affairs of love, And with much twitter and much chatter, Began to agitate the matter. At length a Bulfinch, who could boast Deliver'd briefly thus his mind. My friends! be cautious how ye treat The fubject upon which we meet; I fear we fhall have winter yet. A Finch, whofe tongue knew no control, With golden wing and fatin pole, |