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But Tom was still confin'd; And Dick, although his way was clear,
, Was much too gen'rous and sincere
To leave his friend behind.
For, settling on his grated roof,
That he desir'd no more;
Nor would forsake his cage at last,
A pris'ner as before.
ye, who never knew the joys Of Friendship, satisfied with noise,
Fandango, ball and rout! Blush, when I tell you how a bird, A prison, with a friend, preferr'd
To liberty without.
PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED.
I SHALL not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau",
If birds confabulate or no;
'Tis clear that they were always able To hold discourse, at least, in fable;
And ev’n the child who knows no better,
Than to interpret by the letter,
Must have a most uncommon skull.
It chanc'd then, on a winter's day, But warm and bright, and calm as a May,
It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philosopher, that all fables which ascribe reason and speech to animals, should be withheld from children, as being only vehicles of deception. But what child was ever deceived by them, or can be, against the evidence of his senses?
The birds, conceiving a design
In many an orchard, copse, and grove,
And with much twitter and much chatter,
Began to agitate the matter.
My friends! be cautious how ye treat
A Finch, whose tongue knew no control,
Methinks the gentleman, quoth she,
marry without more ado, My dear Dick Redcap, what say you?
Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling,
But though the birds were thus in haste,
The wind, of late breath'd gently forth,
Could shelter them from rain or snow,
Stepping into their nests, they paddled,