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A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried
What marriage means, thus pert replied.
Methinks the gentleman, quoth fhe,
Opposite in the apple-tree,

By his good will, would keep us fingle

'Till yonder heav'n and earth fhall mingle, Or (which is likelier to befall)

'Till death exterminate us all. I marry without more ado,

My dear Dick Redcap, what fay you?

Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling, Turning fhort round, ftrutting and fideling,

Attefted, glad, his approbation.

Of an immediate conjugation.
Their fentiments fo well exprefs'd,

Influenc'd mightily the rest,

All pair'd, and each pair built a neft.

But though the birds were thus in haste,

The leaves came on not quite so fast,

And destiny, that fometimes bears

An aspect ftern on man's affairs,

Not altogether fmil'd on theirs.

The wind, of late breath'd gently forth,
Now fhifted east and east by north;

Bare trees and fhrubs but ill, you know,
Could fhelter them from rain or fnow,

Stepping into their nefts, they paddled,
Themselves were chill'd, their eggs were addled;

Soon ev'ry father bird and mother

Grew quarrelfome, and peck'd each other,

Parted without the leaft regret,

Except that they had ever met,
And learn'd, in future, to be wiser,

Than to neglect a good adviser.

INSTRUCTION,

Miffes! the tale that I relate

This leffon feems to carry

Choose not alone a proper mate,

But proper time to marry.

THE NEEDLESS ALAR M.

Α TALE.

THERE is a field through which I often pass, Thick overfpread with mofs and filky grafs, Adjoining close to. Kilwick's echoing wood, Where oft the bitch-fox hides her hapless brood, Referv'd to folace many a neighb'ring 'fquire,

That he may follow them through brake and briar,
Contufion hazarding of neck or fpine,

Which rural gentlemen call sport divine.
A narrow brook, by rushy banks conceal'd,
Runs in a bottom, and divides the field;
Oaks intersperse it, that had once a head,
But now wear crefts of oven-wood instead;
And where the land flopes to its wat'ry bourn,
Wide yawns a gulph befide a ragged thorn;

Bricks line the fides, but fhiver'd long ago,
And horrid brambles intertwine below;
A hollow fcoop'd, I judge in ancient time,
For baking earth, or burning rock to lime.

Not yet the hawthorn bore her berries red,
With which the fieldfare, wint'ry gueft, is fed;
Nor autumn yet had brush'd from ev'ry spray,
With her chill hand, the mellow leaves away;
But corn was hous'd, and beans were in the stack,
Now, therefore, iffued forth the spotted pack,

With tails high mounted, ears hung low, and throats
With a whole gamut fill'd of heav'nly notes,
For which, alas! my destiny severe,

Though ears she gave me two, gave me no ear.
The fun, accomplishing his early march,

His lamp now planted on heav'n's topmoft arch,
When, exercise and air my only aim,

And heedlefs whither, to that field I came,

Ere yet with ruthlefs joy the happy hound

Told hill and dale that Reynard's track was found,

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Or with the high-rais'd horn's melodious clang
All Kilwick* and all Dingle-derry* rang.

Sheep graz'd the field; fome with soft bosom prefs'd
The herb as foft, while nibbling ftray'd the reft;
Nor noise was heard but of the hafty brook,
Struggling, detain'd in many a petty nook.
All seem'd fo peaceful, that from them convey'd ~
To me, their peace by kind contagion spread.

But when the huntfman, with diftended cheek,
'Gan make his inftrument of music speak,
And from within the wood that crafh was heard,
Though not a hound from whom it burst appear'd,
The sheep recumbent, and the fheep that graz'd,
All huddling into phalanx, ftood and gaz'd,

Admiring, terrified, the novel ftrain,

Then cours'd the field around, and cours'd it round

again;

But, recollecting with a sudden thought,

That flight in circles urg'd advanc'd them nought,

*Two woods belonging to John Throckmorton, Efq.

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