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 moft uncommon skull.
It chanc'd then, on a winter's day,
But warm and bright, and calm as May,
The birds conceiving a defign,
To forestal fweet St. Valentine,
In many an orchard, copfe, and grove,
Affembled on affairs of love,
And with much twitter and much chattes,
Began to agitate the matter.
At length a Bulfinch, who could boaft
More years and wisdom than the most,
Entreated, op'ning wide his beak,
A moment's liberty to fpeak;
And, filence publicly enjoin'd,
Deliver'd briefly thus his mind.
My friends! be cautious how ye treat
which we meet;
The fubject upon
I fear we fhall have winter yet.
A Finch, whofe tongue knew no control,
With golden wing and fatin pole,
A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried
What marriage means, thus pert replied:
Methinks the gentleman, quoth fhe,
Oppofite 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 befal,)
'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 reft,
All pair'd, and each pair built a neft.
But though the birds were thus in hafte,
The leaves came on not quite fo fast,
And destiny, that fometimes bears
An afpect ftern on man's affairs,
Not altogether fmil'd on theirs.
The wind, of late breath'd gently forth,
Now shifted eaft and eaft 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 least regret,
Except that they had ever met,
And learn'd in future, to be wifer,
Than to neglect a good advifer.
THERE is a field through which I often pafs,.
Thick overfpread with moss and filky grass,
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 brier,,
Contufion hazarding of neck,or fpine,
Which rural gentlemen call fport divine.
A narrow brook, by ruthy banks conceal'd,
Runs in a bottom, and divides the field;
Oaks interfperfe it, that had once a head,
But now wear crefts of oven-wood instead ;
And where the land fopes to its wat'ry bourn,.
Wide yawns a gulf beside a ragged thorn;
Bricks line the fides, but shiver'd long ago,
And horrid brambles interwine below;
A hollow fcoop'd, I judge, in ancient time,
For baking earth, or burning rock to lime.
Nor yet the hawthorn bore her berries red,
With which the field fare, 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, issued 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 fevere,
Though ears fhe gave me two, gave me no ear.
The fun, accomplishing his early march,
His lamp now planted on heav'n's topmoft arch,
When, exercife 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;
Or with the high-rais'd horns' melodious clang
All Kilwick and all Dingle-derry rang.
Sheep graz'd the field; fome with foft bofom prefs'd The herb as foft, while nibbling ftray'd the reft;
*Two woods belonging to John Throckmorton, Esq.
Nor noife was heard but of the hafty brook,
Struggling, detain'd in many a pretty nook.
All feem'd fo peaceful, that from them convey'd
To me their peace by kind contagion spread.
But when the huntfinan, with diftended cheek,
"Gan make his inftrument of music speak,
And from within the wood that crash was heard,
Though not a hound from whom it burft appear'd.
The sheep recumbent, and the sheep 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 fudden thought,
That flight in circles urg'd advanc'd them nought,
They gather'd clofe around the old pit's brink,
And thought again-but knew not what to think.
The man to folitude accuftom'd long,
Perceives in ev'ry thing that lives a tongue;
Not animals alone, but fhrubs and trees,
Have fpeech for him, and understood with ease;
After long drought, when rains abundant fall,
He hears the herbs and flow'rs rejoicing all;
Knows what the freshness of their hue implies,
How glad they catch the largess of the skies;
But, with precifion nicer ftill, the mind
He fcans of ev'ry loco motive kind;
Birds of all feather, beafts of ev'ry name,
That ferve mankind, or fhun them, wild or tame;
The looks and gestures of their griefs and fears
Have, all, articulation in his ears:
He fpells them true by intuition's light,
And needs no gloffary to fet him right.
'This truth premis'd was needful as a text,
To win due credence to what follows next.
Awhile they mus'd; furveying ev'ry face,
Thou hadft fuppos'd them of fuperior race;
Their perriwigs of wool, and fears combin'd,
Stamp'd on each countenance fuch marks of mind,
'That fa e they feem'd, as lawyers o'er a doubt,
Which, puzzling long, at laft they puzzle out;
Or academic tutors teaching youths,
Sure ne'er to want them, mathematic truths;
When thas a mutton, flatelier than the rest,
A ram, the ewes and wethers fad addrefs'd.
Friends! we have liv'd too long. I never heard
Sounds fuch as thefe, fo 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 prifon-houfe below arife,
With all thefe hideous howlings to the skies,
I could be much compos'd, nor fhould appear
For fuch a caufe to feel the flighteft fear.
Yourselves have seen, what time the thunder roll'd
All night, me refting quiet in the fold.
Or heard we that tremendous bray alone,
I should expound the melancholy tone;
Should deem it by our old companion made,
The afs; for he, we know, has lately ftray'd,
And being loft, perhaps, and wandering wide,
Might be fuppos'd to clamour for a guide.
But ah! thofe dreadful yells what foul can hear,
That owns a carcafe, and not quake for fear?
Dæmons produce them, doubtlefs, brazen-claw'd
And fang'd with brafs, the demons are abroad;
I hold it, therefore, wisest and most fit,
That life to fave, we leap into the pit.
Him anfwer'd then his loving mate and true, But more difcreet than he, a Cambrian ewe.
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