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But when the huntsman, with distended cheek,
The man to solitude accustom'd long,
He spells them true by intuition's light,
This truth premis'd was needful as a text,
Awhile they mus'd; surveying ev'ry face, Thou hadit fuppos'd them of fuperior race; Their periwigs of wool, and fears combin'd, Stamp'd on each countenance such marks of mind, That fage they seem'd, as lawyers o'er a doubt, Which, puzzling long, at last they puzzle out ; Or academic tutors, teaching youths, Sure ne'er to want them, mathematic truths ; When thus a mutton, statelier than the reft, A ram, the ewes and wethers, sad, address’d.
Friends! we have liv'd too long. I never heard Sounds such as these, so worthy to be fear'd. Could I believe, that winds for ages pent In earth's dark womb have found at last a vent, And from their prison house below arise, With all these hideous howlings to the skies, I could be much compos’d, nor should
appear For such a cause to feel the sightest fear. Yourselves have seen, what time the thunders rolld All night, me resting quiet in the fold. Or heard we that tremendous bray alone, I could expound the melancholy tone;
Should deem it by our old companion made,
Him answer'd then his loving mate and true, But more discreet than he, a Cambrian ewe.
How ? leap into the pit our life to fave? To save our life leap all into the grave ? For can we find it less ? Contemplate first The depth how awful ! falling there, we burst; Or should the brambles, interpos’d, our fall In
part abate, that happiness were small; For with a race like theirs no chance I see Of peace or ease to creatures clad as we. Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple’s bray, Or be it not, or be it whose it may, And rush those other sounds, that seem by tongues Of dæmons utter'd, from whatever lungs, Sounds are but sounds, and till the cause appear, We have at least commodious standing here.
Come, fiend, come, fury, giant, monster, blast
While thus the fpake, I fainter heard the peals,
MORAL. Beware of desp?rate steps. The darkest day (Live till to morrow) will have pass'd away.
THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY.
The noon was shady, and soft airs
Swept Ouse's silent tide,
I wander'd on his side.
My spaniel, prettiest of his race,
And high in pedigree, (Two nymphs *, adorn'd with ev'ry grace,
That spaniel found for me)
Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds,
Now starting into fight
With scarce a lower flight.
It was the time when Ouse display'd
His lilies newly blown;
And one I wish'd my own.
* Sir Robert Gunning's daughters.