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Addison, in some beautiful Latin lines inserted in the Spectator, is entirely of opinion that birds observe a strict chastity of manners, and never admit the caresses of a different tribe. —(11. vol. vi. No. 412.)

Chaste are their instincts, faithful is their fire,
No foreign beauty tempts to false desire;
The snow-white vesture, and the glittering crown,
The simple plumage, or the glossy down
Prompt not their loves—the patriot bird pursues
His well acquainted tints, and kindred hues.
Hence through their tribes no mix'd polluted flame,
No monster breed to mark the groves with shame;
But the chaste blackbird, to its partner true,
Thinks black alone is beauty's favourite hue.
The nightingale, with mutual passion blest,
Sings to its mate, and nightly charms the rest.
While the dark owl to court its partner flies.
And owns its offspring in their yellow eyes,

3 See Goldsm. Anim. Nat. vol. v. p. Hi.



Let schoolmasters puzzle their brain

With grammar, and nonsense, and learning, Good liquor, I stoutly maintain,

Gives genius a better discerning.
Let them brag of their heathenish gods,

Their Lethes, their Styxes, and Stygians; Their quis, and their quees, and their quods,

They're all but a parcel of pigeons.

Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

When methodist preachers come down,

A preaching that drinking is sinful, I'll wager the rascals a crown,

They always preach best with a skinful. But when you come down with your pence,

For a slice of their scurvy religion, I'll leave it to all men of sense,

But you, my good friend, are the pigeon.

Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

Then come, put the jorum about,

And let us be merry and clever, Our hearts and our liquors are stout,

Here's the three jolly pigeons for ever. 1 See ' She stoops to Conquer,' p. 147.

Let some cry up woodcock or hare,

Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons, But of all the birds in the air,

Here's a health to the three jolly pigeons.

Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

Note] We drank tea with the ladies, and Goldsmith sung Tony I.umpkins' song in his comedy, and a very pretty one, to an Irish tune (the Humours of Ballanagairy), which he had designed for Miss Hardcastle; but as Mrs. Bulkley, who played the part, could not sing, it was left out. He afterwards wrote it down for me, by which means it was preserved, and now appears among his poems.

Boswell's Johnson, v. ii. p. 217.



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