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. Silent she sat with rapture high, Full on dear Tom was fix'd her eye ; Yet, as he finished, 'tis confess'd, She arch'd her neck, and rear'd her crest,' As proud to own the glorious cause, And clapt her wings, and coo'd applause.
• Go,' cried the Cock, my soul disdains • To make reply! go hug your chains !!
He scarce had ended, when, behold, A rival comes, as young, as bold: They fight, and dismal scenes ensue, Their females unconcern'd withdrew;" This dies ! our hero maim'd, survives, The scorn of all his twenty wives... Dejected now he hides his head, None mourn the wounded, nor the dead. New rakes, new loves, new broils succeed, They riot, envy, fight, and bleed....! With speechless.joys the Turtles glow'd, Their joys their meeting glances shew'd ; They bless'd the Gracious Pow'r above, That each of them was form'd a Dove. ;
Let others take from Cocks their cue, And range wide nature's common through; By Doves instructed, you and I, Each with his one can live and die. *
The Lark, a bird politely bred,
" que es . But, fit for flight, and harvest near,.. Ere danger comes, they disappear, .
In a rye-field, where oft she sung, A Lark took lodgings for her young," :? But saw, with sorrow and surprise, 'Twas ripe ere they could skim the skies. In this distress, My chicks,' said she, ** • Whene'er abroad for food I fee, · The news ye hear to me relate, · Lest o'er you hang a timeless fate."
Next morn the Farmer and his son About the field their walk begun; • Sure,' quoth the man, 'this grain is grown: • Too ripe, and should ere this be down. "To-morrow, boy, before the dawn, Hither let all our friends be drawn.'
The Lark returns, the tim'rous brood
• Children,' said she, 'go take your rest,
Safe for to-morrow stands the nest; · His harvest work he long attends, • Who leaves the labour to his friends.'
Next morn abroad the mother goes More food to get, and sooth their woes. At length the Farmer hobbles by To see his friends cut down the rye; But sees he came, alas ! too soon, Tho' the high sun proclaim'd it noon. Our friends,' quoth he, with looks demure, Of late are wond'rous lazy, sure; · Well, we'll our kindred's good-will try, • To-morrow they shall cut the rye.'
The Larks thought now all past relief, The dam returns, they tell their grief;— 'Peace,' quoth the mother, ‘ yet you're safe, . And at to-morrow's work may laugh.'
At break of day the clownish pair Again unto the field repair : Untouch'd they saw the rye still stand, And not a cousin, near at hand : . Well,' quoth the sire, 'the ties of blood • And friendship I've ill understood; * To-morrow, ere the sun you see, . Two sickles bring for you and me; • Our friends, our kindred long may stay, . • Let us the harvest bear away.'
When the young Larks this news repeat, - Hence,' cries the dam, 'we all must get ;
Your legs, your wings, my children, try, . For down to-morrow goes the rye.', That never bid your friends pursue, Which you without their aid can do.
THE MAGPIE :
: OR, BAD COMPANY. .
In Fleet-street dwelt, in days of yore,
In basket prison hung on high, .
A fav'rite Magpie sees the play,
This dissipative life, of course,
And, now, between each heartfelt sigh,
Observe, thro' life you'll always find