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* This treasure will suffice and more, To place me handsomely on shore, • In some snug manor; now a swain, • My steers shall turn the furrow'd plain, • While on a mountain's grassy side : *My flocks are past'ring far and wide : . Beside all this, I'll have a seat • Convenient, elegant and neat, • A house, not over-great, nor small, • Three rooms, a kitchen and a hall. • The offices contriv'd with care,

And fitted to complete a square: * A garden well laid out'; a wife, • To double all the joys of life ; • With children pratt’ling at my knees,

Such trifles as are sure to please. • Those gay designs, and twenty more, • I, in my dream, was running o'er, • While you, as if you owed me spite, • Broke in, and put them all to flight, • Blew the whole vision into air, * And left me waking in despair. • Of late we have been poorly fed, • Last night went supperless to bed :

Yet, if I had it in my power *My dream to lengthen for an hour, • The pleasure mounts to such a sum, • I'd fast for fifty yet to come. • Therefore to bid me rise is vain, • I'll wink, and try to dream again,'

• If this,' quoth Gripus, 'is the way •You choose, I've nothing more to say; " 'Tis plain that dreams of wealth will serve 'A person who resolves to starve; • But, sure, to hug a fancied case, · That never did, nor can, take place, . And for the pleasures it can give

Neglect the trade by which we live, • Is madness in its greatest height,

Or I mistake the matter quite : • Leave such vain fancies to the great, * For folly suits a large estate: * The rich may safely deal in dreams, • Romantic hopes and airy schemes. • But you and I, believe my word,

Such pastime cannot well afford; . And, therefore, if you would be wise, * Take my advice, for once, and rise.'



By Wilkie.

Each candidate for public fame
Engages in a desp'rate game:

His labour he will find but lost,
Or less than half repaid at most.
To prove this point, I shall not chuse
The arguments which stoics use;
That human life is but a dream,
And few things in it what they seem;
That praise is vain and little worth,
An empty bauble, and so forth.
I'll offer one, but of a kind
Not half so subtil and refin’d;
Which, when the rest are out of sight,
May sometimes chance to have its weight.
The man who sets his merits high
To glitter in the public eye,
Should have defects but very small,
Or, strictly speaking, none at all:
For that success which spreads his fame,
Provokes each envious tongue to blame,
And makes his faults and failings known
Where'er his better parts are shewn.

Upon a time, as poets sing,
The birds all waited on their King,
His nuptial rites they wish'd to grace,
A flow'ry meadow was the place;
They all were frolicsome and gay
Amidst the pleasures of the day,
And, ere the festival was clos'd,
A match at singing was propos’d;
The Queen herself a wreath prepar'd,
To be the conqueror's reward ;

With store of pinks and daisies in it,
And many a songster tried to win it;
But all the judges soon confess'd
The Swan superior to the rest,
He got the garland from the bride,
With honour and applause beside.

A tattling Goose with envy stung,
Altho’ herself she ne'er had sung,
Took this occasion to reveal
What Swans seem studious to conceal,
And, skill'd in satire's artful ways,
Invective introduc'd with praise.

· The Swan' quoth she, 'whom we have heard, Deserves applause from ev'ry bird: By proof his charming voice you know, * His feathers soft, and white as snow; * And, if you saw him when he swims

Majestic on the silver streams, * He'd seem complete in all respects, * But nothing is without defects; * For that is true, which few would think, His legs and feet are black as ink.

*As black as ink!--if this be true, it.. To me 'tis wonderful and new, The Sov'reign of the birds replied; * But soon the truth on't shall be tried... “Sir, shew your limbs, and, for my sake, ...) • Confute at once this foul mistake, * For I'll maintain, and I am right, • That, like her feathers, they are white.!

Sir' quoth the Swan, it would be vain For me a falsehood to maintain; My legs are black, and proof will shew • Beyond dispute that they are so : • But, if I had not got a prize • Which glitters much in some folk's eyes,"

Not half the birds had ever known • What truth now forces me to own.'





In ancient times, tradition says, the
When Birds like men, would strive for praise ;
The Bulfinch, Nightingale, and Thrush,
With all that chant from tree or bush,
Would often meet in song to vie;
The kinds that sing not, sitting by. Good
A knavish Crow, it seems had got
The knack to criticise by rote;
He understood each learned phrase,
As well as Critics now-a-days:

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