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ANT AND CATERPILLAR.
As an Ant, of his talents superiorly vain,
plete; I guide all my motions with freedom and ease, Run backward and forward, and turn when I
please: Of nature (grown weary), you shocking essay ! I spurn you thus from me-crawl out of my way.'
The reptile insulted, and vex'd to the soul, Crept onwards, and hid himself close in his hole; But nature, determined to end his distress, Soon sent him abroad in a Butterfly's dress.
Ere long the proud Ant, as repassing the road (Fatigued from the harvest, and tugging bis load), The beau on a violet bank he beheld, Whose vesture, in glory, a monarch's excell'd;
His plumage expanded—'twas rare to behold
The Ant quite amazed at a figure so gay, Bow'd low with respect and was trudging away: • Stop, friend (says the Butterfly)—don't be sur
prised, I once was the reptile you spurn’d and despised; But now I can mount, in the sunbeams I play, While you must, for ever, drudge on in your way.'
MORAL. A wretch, though to-day he's o’erloaded with sorrow,
[morrow. May soar above those that oppress'd him--to
THE ROSE AND BUTTERFLY. At day's early dawn a gay Butterfly spied A budding young Rose, and he wish'd her his bride :
[clare, She blush'd when she heard him his passion deAnd tenderly told him he need not despair.
Their faith was soon plighted; as lovers will do, He swore to be constant, she vow'd to be true.
It had not been prudent to deal with delay, The bloom of a rose passes quickly away, And the pride of a butterfly dies in a day.
When wedded,away the wing'd gentleman hies, From floweret to floweret he wantonly flies; Nor did he revisit his bride, till the sun Had less than one fourth of his journey to run.
The Rose thus reproach'd him—Already so
cold! How feign’d, O you false one! the passion you 'Tis an age since you left me:' she meant a few hours;
[flovers : But such we'll suppose the fond language of • I saw when you gave the base violet a kiss: How-how could you stoop to a meanness like this?
[spise, Shall a low little wretch, whom we Roses deFind favour, O love! in my Butterfly's eyes? On a tulip quite tawdry I saw your fond rape, Nor yet could the pitifut primrose escape : Dull daffodils tog mete fitty Ardour address’d, And poppies il scented you kindly caress’d.' The coxcomb was piqued, band replied with a sneer,
(my dear; • That you're frst to complain/I commend you, But know, from your conduct my maxims I drew, And if I'm inconstant, T copy
you. • I saw the boy Zephyrus rifle your charms, I saw how you simper'd and smiled in his arms; The honey-bee kiss'd you, you cannot disown, You favour'd besides-0 dishonour!-a drone; Yet worse- —'tis a crime that you must not deny, Your sweets were made common, false Rose !
to a fly.'
This law, long ago, did Love's Providence make, That every Coquette should be cursed with a
SHEEP AND THE BRAMBLE BUSH.
A THICK-TWISTED brake, in the time of a storm,
Seem'd kindly to cover a sheep: So snug,
for a while, he lay shelter'd and warm, It quietly sooth'd him asleep. The clouds are now scatter'd—the winds are at
The sheep to his pasture inclined : [peace; But ah! the fell thicket lays hold of his fleece,
His coat is left forfeit behind. My friend! who the thicket of law never tried, Consider before you get in;
side, Though judgment and sentence are passid on your
By Jove, you'll be fleeced to the skin.
THE FOX AND THE CAT. The Fox and the Cat, as they travel'd one day, With moral discourses cut shorter the way: 'Tis great (says the Fox) to make justice our
guide! How godlike is mercy! Grimalkin replied. Whilst thus they proceeded, a Wolf from the
wood, Impatient of hunger, and thirsting for blood, Rush'd forth, as he saw the dull shepherd asleep, And seized for his supper an innocent sheep. • In vain, wretched victim, for mercy you bleat, When mutton's at hand (says the Wolf), I must Grimalkin's astonish'd—the Fox stood aghast, To see the fell beast at his bloody repast. • What a wretch (says the Cat)—'tis the vilest
of brutes ! Does he feed upon flesh, when there's herbage and roots?
(so good, Cries the Fox— While our oaks give us acorns What a tyrant is this, to spill innocent blood!' Well, onward they march’d, and they moralized still,
[by a mill;
A Spider that sat in her web on the wall, Perceived the poor victims, and pitied their fall; She cried. Of such murders how guiltless am I!' So ran to regale on a new-taken fly.
The faults of our neighbours with freedom we
blame, But tax not ourselves, though we practise the