The Monkies. A Tale.

WHOE'ER, with curious eye, hath

rang'd

Through Ovid's tales, has feen How Jove, incens'd, to Monkies chang'd A tribe of worthless men.

Repentant foon th' offending race
Intreat the injur'd pow'r,

To give them back the human face,

And reafon's aid restore.

Jove, footh'd at length, his ear inclin'd,
And granted half their pray'r !
But t'other half he bade the wind
Difperfe in empty air.

Scarce had the thund'rer giv'n the nod

That shook the vaulted skies,

With haughtier air the creatures ftrode,

And ftretch'd their dwindled fize.

The

The hair in curls luxuriant now
Around their temples spread;
The tail, that whilom hung below,
Now dangled from the head.

The head remains unchang'd within,

Nor alter'd much the face;

It ftill retains its native grin,
And all its old grimace

Thus half transform'd, and half the fame,
Jove bade them take their place,
(Reftoring them their ancient claim)
Among the human race.

Man with contempt the brute furvey'd,
Nor would a name bestow,

But woman lik'd the motley breed,

And call'd the thing a beau.

MERRICK.

The

The Country Clergyman.

NEAR yonder copfe, where once the

garden fmil'd,

And still where many a garden flower grows

wild,

There, where a few torn fhrubs the place

difclofe,

The village preacher's modeft manfion rofe.
A man he was, to all the country dear,
And paffing rich with forty pounds a year;
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,
Nor ere had chang'd, nor wifh'd to change
his place,

Unfkilful he to fawn, or feek for pow'r,
By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour ;
Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize,
More bent to raise the wretched than to rife.
His house was known to all the vagrant train,
He chid their wand'rings, but reliev'd their
pain.

The

The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, Whose beard defcending fwept his aged breaft;

The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims

allow'd;

-The broken foldier, kindly bade to stay, Sate by his fire, and talk'd the night away; Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of forrow [were won,

done,

Shoulder'd his crutch, and fhew'd how fields Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd

to glow,

And quite forgot their vices in their woe; Careless their merits, or their faults to fcan, His pity gave ere charity began.

Thus to relieve the wretched was his

pride,

And even his failings lean'd to Virtue's fide;
But in his duty prompt at every call,
He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt,

for all.

And, as a bird each fond endearment tries,

To tempt her new-fledg'd offspring to the

fkies ;

He

He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay, Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way.

Befide the bed where parting life was laid,

And forrow, guilt, and pain, by turns difmay'd,

The rev'rend champion ftood. At his controul,

Despair and anguish fled the struggling foul; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise,

And his laft fault'ring accents whisper'd praise.

At church, with meek and unaffected

grace,

His looks adorn'd the venerable place;

Truth from his lips prevail'd with double fway,

And fools, who came to fcoff, remain'd to

pray.

The fervice paft, around the pious man, With ready zeal, each honeft ruftic ran; Ev'n children follow'd with endearing wile,

And pluck'd his gown, to fhare the good man's fmile.

His