That vixen tongue of your's, my Dear,
Alarms our neighbours far and near.
Good Gods! 'tis like a rolling river,
That murmuring flows, and flows for ever!
Ne'er tir'd, perpetual difcord fowing!
Like Fame it gathers ftrength by going."
"Heigh day!" the flippant tongue replies,
"How folemn is the fool! how wife!
Is Nature's choiceft gift debarr'd?
Nay, frown not; for I will be heard.
Women of late are finely ridden,
A Parrot's privilege forbidden !

You praise his talk, his fqualling fong;
But wives are always in the wrong."
Now reputations flew in pieces

Of mothers, daughters, aunts, and nieces:
She ran the Parrot's language o'er,

Bawd, huffy, drunkard, flattern, whore;
On all the fex fhe vents her fury,
Tries and condemns without a jury.

At once the torrent of her words

Alarm'd cat, monkey, dogs, and birds:
All join their forces to confound her,

Pufs fpits, the monkey chatters round her;

3d

The yelping cur her heels affaults;
The magpie blabs out all her faults ;
Poll, in the uproar, from his cage,
With this rebuke outscream'd her rage.
"A Parrot is for talking priz'd,
But prattling women are defpis'd.

7

35

She

She who attacks another's honour,

Draws every living thing upon her.
Think, Madam, when you stretch your lungs,
That all your neighbours too have tongues :
One flander muft ten thousand get;

The world with interest pays the debt.

40

THE CUR AND THE MASTIFF.

A SNEAKING Cur, the mafter's fpy,

Rewarded for his daily lye,

With fecret jealoufies and fears

Set all together by the ears.

Poor Pufs to-day was in difgrace,
Another Cat fupply'd her place;
The Hound was beat, the Maftiff chid,
The Monkey was the room forbid;
Each to his dearest friend grew fhy,
And none could tell the reason why.

A plan to rob the house was laid:
The thief with love feduc'd the maid,
Cajol'd the Cur, and stroak'd his head,
And bought his fecrecy with bread;
He next the Mastiff's honour try'd,
Whofe honeft jaws the bribe defy'd;
He stretch'd his hand to proffer more;
The furly Dog his fingers tore.

10

Swit

Swift ran the Cur; with indignation

The Mafter took his information.

"Hang him, the villain's curs'd," he cries;

And round his neck the halter ties.

The Dog his humble fuit preferr'd,

20

And begg'd in juftice to be heard.

The Mafter fate. On either hand

25

The cited Dogs confronting ftand;

The Cur the bloody tale relates,
And, like a Lawyer, aggravates.
"Judge not unheard, the Mastiff cry'd,

But weigh the caufe of either fide.
Think not that treachery can be just ;
Take not informers' words on truft;
They ope their hand to every pay,
And you and me by turns betray."

He spoke; and all the truth appear'd :
The Cur was hang'd, the Mastiff clear'd.

30

35

66

FABLE

XXVII.

THE SICK MAN AND THE ANGEL.

'S there no hope?" the fick man faid.

"IS

The filent Doctor fhook his head, And took his leave with figns of forrow, Defpairing of his fee to-morrow.

When thus the Man, with gasping breath;

"I feel the chilling wound of Death.

:

5

Since

Since I must bid the world adieu,
Let me my former life review.
I grant my bargains well were made,

But all men over-reach in trade;
'Tis felf-defence in each profeffion;
Sure felf-defence is no tranfgreffion.
The little portion in my hands,
By good fecurity on lands

Is well increas'd. If, unawares,
My juftice to myself and heirs
Hath let my debtor rot in jail,
For want of good fufficient bail;
If I, by writ, or bond, or deed,
Reduc'd a family to need;

My will hath made the world amends ;
My hope on charity depends.

When I am number'd with the dead,

And all my pious gifts are read,

By heaven and earth 'twill then be known

My charities were amply shown."

An Angel came. “Ah! Friend! he cry'd.

No more in flattering hope confide.

Can thy good deeds in former times

Outweigh the balance of thy crimes?
What widow or what orphan prays
To crown thy life with length of days?
A pious action 's in thy power,
Embrace with joy the happy hour.
Now, while you draw the vital air,
Prove your intention is fincere:

This

This inftant give a hundred pound;

Your neighbours want, and you abound."

“But why such haste, the fick Man whines; Who knows as yet what Heaven designs?

Perhaps I may recover ftill.

That fum and more are in my will."

"Fool, fays the Vifion, now 'tis plain

Your life, your foul, your Heaven, was gain.
From every fide, with all your might,
You ferap'd, and fcrap'd beyond your right;
And after death would fain atone,

By giving what is not your own."

40

45

"While there is life, there's hope, he cry'd; Then why fuch hafte ?" fo groan'd, and dy'd. 50

THE PERSIAN, THE SUN, AND THE CLOUD.

S there a bard whom genius fires,

Is

Whofe every thought the God infpires?
When Envy reads the nervous lines,
She frets, the rails, the raves, the pines;
Her hiffing fnakes with venom fwell;
She calls her venal train from hell:
The fervile fiends her nod obey,
And all Curll's authors are in pay.
Fame calls up Calumny and Spite:
Thus fhadow owes its birth to light.

10

As,