THE TURKEY AND THE ANT.
IN other men we faults can spy,
And blame the mote that dims their eye:
Each little speck and blemish find,
To our own stronger errors blind.

A Turkey, tired of common food,
Forsook the barn, and sought the wood:
Behind her ran an infant train,

Collecting here and there a grain.

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'Draw near, my birds," the mother cries; "This hill delicious fare supplies;

Behold, the busy Negro race!

See, millions blacken all the place!
Fear not.

Like me with freedom eat;
An Ant is most delightful meat.
How bless'd, how envied, were our life,
Could we but scape the poulterer's knife!
But man, curs'd man, on Turkeys preys,
And Christmas shortens all our days:
Sometimes with oysters we combine,
Sometimes assist the savoury chine.
From the low peasant to the lord,
The Turkey smokes on every board.
Sure, men for gluttony are curs'd,-
Of the seven deadly sins the worst."

An Ant, who climbed beyond her reach, Thus answered from the neighbouring beech: "Ere you remark another's sin,

Bid thy own conscience look within:

Control thy more voracious bill,

Nor for a breakfast nations kill."

THE TWO MONKEYS.

THE learned, full of inward pride,
The Fops of outward show deride;
The Fop, with learning at defiance,
Scoffs at the pedant and the science.
The Don, a formal solemn strutter,
Despises Monsieur's airs and flutter;
While Monsieur mocks the formal fool,
Who looks and speaks and walks by rule.
Britain, a medley of the twain,

As pert as France, as grave as Spain,
In fancy wiser than the rest,

Laughs at them both, of both the jest.
Is not the poet's chiming close
Censured by all the sons of prose?

While bards of quick imagination
Despise the sleepy prose narration.
Men laugh at Apes, they men contemn;
For what are we but Apes to them?

Two Monkeys went to Southwark fair;
No critics had a sourer air.

They forced their way through draggled folks,
Who gaped to catch Jack-pudding's jokes ;
Then took their tickets for the show,
And got, by chance, the foremost row.
To see their grave observing face
Provoked a laugh through all the place.
"Brother," says Pug, and turned his head,
"The rabble's monstrously ill bred!"

Now through the booth loud hisses ran;
Nor ended till the show began.
The tumbler whirls the flip-flap round,
With somersets he shakes the ground.
The cord beneath the dancer springs;
Aloft in air the vaulter swings;
Distorted now, now prone depends,
Now through his twisted arms ascends.
The crowd, in wonder and delight,
With clapping hands applaud the sight.
With smiles, quoth Pug, "If pranks like these
The giant Apes of reason please,

How would they wonder at our arts!
They must adore us for our parts.
High on the twig I've seen you cling,
Play, twist, and turn, in airy ring.
How can those clumsy things, like me,
Fly with a bound from tree to tree?
But yet, by this applause, we find
These emulators of our kind
Discern our worth, our parts regard,
Who our mean mimics thus reward."
"Brother," the grinning mate replies,
"In this I grant that man is wise.
While good example they pursue,
We must allow some praise is due ;
But, when they strain beyond their guide,

I laugh to scorn the mimic pride.

For how fantastic is the sight

To meet men always bolt upright,
Because we sometimes walk on two!
I hate the imitating crew."

N

THE MAN AND THE FLEA.

WHETHER on earth, in air, or main,
Sure every thing alive is vain.

Does not the hawk all fowls survey,
As destined only for his prey?
And do not tyrants, prouder things,
Think men were born for slaves to kings?
When the crab views the pearly strands,
Or Tagus bright with golden sands;
Or crawls beside the coral grove,
And hears the ocean roll above;
"Nature is too profuse," says he,
"Who gave all these to pleasure me !"
When bordering pinks and roses bloom,
And every garden breathes perfume ;
When peaches glow with sunny dyes,
Like Laura's cheek when blushes rise;
When with huge figs the branches bend;
When clusters from the vine depend;
The snail looks round on flower and tree,
And cries, "All these were made for me!"
"What dignity's in human nature !"
Says Man, the most conceited creature,
As from a cliff he cast his eye,

And viewed the sea and arched sky.

The sun was sunk beneath the main;
The moon and all the starry train

Hung the vast vault of Heaven. The Man
His contemplation thus began:

"When I behold this glorious show,
And the wide watery world below,

The scaly people of the main,

The beasts that range the wood or plain,

The wing'd inhabitants of air,

The day, the night, the various year,

And know all these by Heaven designed

As gifts to pleasure human-kind;

I cannot raise my worth too high;
Of what vast consequence am I !”

"Not of the importance you suppose,

Replies a Flea upon his nose.

"Be humble, learn thyself to scan":

Know, pride was never made for man.

'Tis vanity that swells thy mind.

What, heaven and earth for thee designed !

For thee! made only for our need,

That more important Fleas might feed !"

GAY.

VERSES TO BE PLACED UNDER THE PICTURE OF SIR
RICHARD BLACKMORE,

CONTAINING A COMPLETE CATALOGUE OF HIS WORKS,1

SEE who ne'er was nor will be half read,
Who first sang Arthur, then sang Alfred;
Praised great Eliza in God's anger,

Till all true Englishmen cried "

Hang her!"
Mauled human wit in one thick satire;
Next in three books spoiled human nature;
Undid Creation at a jerk,

And of Redemption made damned work;
Then took his Muse at once, and dipped her
Full in the middle of the Scripture.

What wonders there the man grown old did!
Sternhold himself he out-Sternholded;
Made David seem so mad and freakish

All thought him just what thought King Achish;
No mortal read his Solomon

But judged Rebo am his own son ;
Moses he served as Moses Pharaoh,
And Deborah as she Sisèra ;
Made Jeremy full sore to cry,
And Job himself curse God and die.

What punishment all this must follow?

Shall Arthur use him like King Tollo?
Shall David as Uriah slay him?

Or dexterous Deborah Siserà him?

Or shall Eliza lay a plot

To treat him like her sister Scot?

No, none of these; Heaven save his life, –

But send him, honest Job, thy wife!

A NEW SONG OF NEW SIMILES.

My passion is as mustard strong;
I sit all sober sad;

Drunk as a piper all day long,

Or like a March-hare mad.

Round as a hoop the bumpers flow;

I drink, yet can't forget her;
For, though as drunk as David's sow,

I love her still the better.

Pert as a pear-monger I'd be,
If Molly were but kind;

Cool as a cucumber, could see

The rest of womankind.

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1 Blackmore, a versifier now remembered only by name, was the author of

King Arthur (an epic), The Creation, &c. &c.

Like a stuck pig, I gaping stare,
And eye her o'er and o'er;

Lean as a rake, with sighs and care,—
Sleek as a mouse before.

Plump as a partridge was I known,
And soft as silk my skin;
My cheeks as fat as butter grown,
But as a goat now thin!

I, melancholy as a cat,
Am kept awake to weep;
But she, insensible of that,
Sound as a top can sleep.

Hard is her heart as flint or stone,
She laughs to see me pale;
And merry as a grig is grown,
And brisk as bottled ale.

The god of love, at her approach,
Is busy as a bee ;

Hearts, sound as any bell or roach,
Are smit, and sigh like me.

Ah me! as thick as hops or hail
The fine men crowd about her;
But soon as dead as a door-nail
Shall I be, if without her.

Straight as my leg her shape appears :
Oh were we joined together!
My heart would be scot-free from cares,
And lighter than a feather.

As fine as fivepence is her mien,
No drum was ever tighter;
Her glance is as the razor keen,
And not the sun is brighter.

As soft as pap her kisses are,
Methinks I taste them yet;
Brown as a berry is her hair,
Her eyes as black as jet.

As smooth as glass, as white as curds, Her pretty hand invites ;

Sharp as her needle are her words,

Her wit like pepper bites.

Brisk as a body-louse she trips,

Clean as a penny dressed;

Sweet as a rose her breath and lips,

Round as the globe her breast.