Rang'd cups, that in the window ftood,
Lin'd with red rags, to look like blood ;
Did well his threefold trade explain,
Who fhav'd, drew teeth, and breath'd a vein.
The Goat he welcomes with an air,
And feats him in his wooden chair:
Mouth, nofe, and cheek, the lather hides;
Light, smooth, and swift, the razor glides,
"I hope your custom, Sir, fays Pug.
Sure never face was half fo fmug!"
The Goat, impatient for applause,
Swift to the neighbouring hill withdraws.
The fhaggy people grinn'd, and flar'd.
"Heigh-day! what's here? without a beard!
Say, Brother, whence the dire difgrace?
What envious hand hath robb'd your face ?"
When thus the fop, with fmiles of fcorn,
"Are beards by civil nations worn?
Ev'n Mufcovites have mow'd their chins.
Shall we, like formal Capuchins,
Stubborn in pride, retain the mode,
And bear about the hairy load?
Whene'er we through the village ftray,
Are we not mock'd along the way,
Infulted with loud fhouts of scorn,
By boys our beards difgrac'd and torn ?"
"Were you no more with Goats to dwell,
Brother, I grant you reafon well,"
Replies a bearded chief. "Befide,
If boys can mortify thy pride,
How wilt thou ftand the ridicule
Of our whole flock? Affected fool!"
Coxcombs, diftinguish'd from the reft,
To all but coxcombs are a jeft.
THE OLD WOMAN AND HER CATS.
WHO friendship with a knave hath made,
Is judg'd a partner in the trade.
The matron, who conducts abroad
A willing nymph, is thought a bawd;
And, if a modeft girl is seen
With one who cures a lover's fpleen,
We guefs her not extremely nice,
And only wish to know her price.
'Tis thus that on the choice of friends
Our good or evil name depends.
A wrinkled hag, of wicked fame,
Befide a little fmoaky flame
Sate hovering, pinch'd with age and froft;
Her fhrivel'd hands, with veins emboss'd,
Upon her knees her weight sustains,
While palfy fhook her crazy
She mumbles forth her backward prayers,
An untam'd fcold of fourfcore years.
About her fwarm'd a numerous brood
Of Cats, who, lank with hunger, mew'd.
Teaz'd with their cries, her choler grew,
And thus the fputter'd. "Hence, ye crew!
Fool that I was, to entertain
Such imps, fuch fiends, a hellifh train !
Had ye been never hous'd and nurs'd,
I for a witch had ne'er been curs'd.
Το you I owe that crowds of boys
Worry me with eternal noife;
Straws laid acrofs my pace retard,
The horseshoe's nail'd (each threshold's guard); 3•
The ftunted broom the wenches hide,
For fear that I fhould up and ride;
They stick with pins my bleeding feat,
And bid me fhow my fecret teat."
"To hear you prate, would vex a faint;
Who hath most reafon of complaint ?"
Replies a Cat. "Let's come to proof.
Had we ne'er ftarv'd beneath your roof,
We had, like others of our race,
In credit liv'd as beafts of chace.
'Tis infamy to ferve a hag;
Cats are thought imps, her broom a nag;
And boys against our lives combine,
Becaufe 'tis faid your Cats have nine.”
THE BUTTERFLY AND THE SNAIL.
ALL upftarts, infolent in place,
Remind us of their vulgar race.
As in the funfhine of the morn
A Butterfly (but newly born)
Sate proudly perking on a rose,
With pert conceit his bofom glows;
His wings (all glorious to behold)
Bedropt with azure, jet, and gold,
Wide he difplays; the fpangled dew
Reflects his eyes and various hue.
His now-forgotten friend, a Snail,
Beneath his houfe, with flimy trail,
Crawls o'er the grass; whom when he spies,
In wrath he to the gardener cries :
"What means yon' peafant's daily toil,
From choaking weeds to rid the foil?
Why wake you to the morning's care?
Why with new arts correct the year?
Why grows the peach with crimfon hue?
And why the plumb's inviting blue?
Were they to feaft his tafte defign'd,
That vermin of voracious kind?
Crush then the flow, the pilfering race,
So purge thy garden from disgrace.”
"What arrogance! the Snail reply'd; How infolent is upstart pride!
Hadft thou not thus, with infult vain,
Provok'd my patience to complain,
I had conceal'd thy meaner birth,
Nor trac'd thee to the fcum of earth:
For scarce nine suns have wak'd the hours,
To fwell the fruit, and paint the flowers,
Since I thy humbler life furvey'd,
In base, in fordid guise array'd;
A hideous infect, vile, unclean,
You dragg'd a flow and noisome train;
And from your fpider-bowels drew
Foul film, and fpun the dirty clue.
I own my humble life, good friend;
Snail was I born, and Snail fhall end.
And what's a Butterfly? at best
He's but a caterpillar dreft;
And all thy race (a numerous feed)
Shall prove of caterpillar breed."
HE husband thus reprov'd his wife :
The deals in flander, lives in ftrife.
Art thou the herald of disgrace,
Denouncing war to all thy race?
Can nothing quell thy thunder's rage,
Which spares nor friend, nor sex, nor age?
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