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The victim of his own tremendous choice,

And taught a brute the way to safe revenge.

I would not enter on my list of friends
(Tho'grac'd with polish'd manners and fine sense,
Yet wanting sensibility) the man
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
An inadvertent step may crush the snail
That crawls at ev'ning in the public path;
But he that has humanity, forewarn'd,
Will tread aside, and let the reptile live.
The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight,
And charg'd perhaps with venom, that intrudes,
A visitor unwelcome, into scenes
Sacred to neatness and repose—th' alcove,
The chamber, or refectory-may die:
A necessary act incurs no blame.
Not so when, held within their

proper bounds,
And guiltless of offence, they range the air,
Op take their pastime in the spacious field:

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There they are privileg'd; and he that hunts
Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong,
Disturbs th' economy of nature's realm,
Who, when she form’d, design'd them an abode.
The sum is this.—If man's convenience, health,
Or safety, interfere, his rights and claims
Are paramount, and must extinguish their's.
Else they are all—the meanest things that are-
As free to live, and to enjoy that life,
As God was free to form them at the first,
Who, in his sov'reign wisdom, made them all.
Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your
To love it too. The spring-time of our years
Is soon dishonour'd and defil'd in most

sons

By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand
To check them. But, alas! none sooner shoots,
If unrestrain'd, into luxuriant growth,
Than cruelty, most dev'lish of them all.
Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule
And righteous limitation of its act,

By which Heav'n moves in pard’ning guilty man; And he that shows none, being ripe in years, And conscious of the outrage he commits,

Shall seek it, and not find it, in his turn.

Distinguish'd much by reason, and still more By our capacity of From creatures that exist but for our sake,

grace divine,

Which, having serv'd us, perish, we are held
Accountable; and God, some future day,
Will reckon with us roundly for th' abuse

Of what he deems no mean or trivial trust.

Superior as we are, they yet depend
Not more on human help than we on their’s.
Their strength, or speed, or vigilance, were giv'n

In aid of our defects. In some are found

Such teachable and apprehensive parts,
That man's attainments in his own concerns,
Match'd with th’expertness of the brute's in their's,
Are oft-times vanquish'd and thrown far behind.

Some show that nice sagacity of smell,
And read with such discernment, in the port
And figure of the man, his secret aim,
That oft we owe our safety to a skill
We could not teach, and must despair to learn.
But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop
To quadrupede instructors, many a good
And useful quality, and virtue too,
Rarely exemplified among ourselves.
Attachment never to be wean'd, or chang'd
By any change of fortune; proof alike
Against unkindness, absence, and neglect;
Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat
Can move or warp; and gratitude for small
And trivial favours, lasting as the life,
And glist’ning even in the dying eye.

Man praises man.

Desert in arts or arms

Wins public honour; and ten thousand sit
Patiently present at a sacred song,

Commemoration-mad; content to hear

(Oh wonderful effect of music's pow'r!)
Messiah's eulogy for Handel's sake!,
But less, methinks, than sacrilege might serve-
(For, was it less, what heathen would have dar'd
To strip Jove's statue of his oaken wreath,
And hang it up in honour of a man?)
Much less might serve, when all that we design
Is but to gratify an itching ear,
And give the day to a musician's praise.
Remember Handel? Who, that was not born
Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets,
Or can, the more than Homer of his age?
Yes--we remember him; and, while we praise
A talent so divine, remember too
That His most holy book from whom it came
Was never meant, was never us'd before,
To buckram out the mem'ry of a man.
But hush!—the muse perhaps is too severe;
And, with a gravity beyond the size

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