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180 LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVED.

The lawless herd, with fury blind,

Have done him cruel wrong ;
The flowers are gone—but still we find

The honey on his tongue.

THE

LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVE!;

OR,

HYPOCRISY DETECTED.

Thus says the prophet of the Turk,
Good Mussulman, abstain from pork ;
There is a part in every swine
No friend or follower of mine
May taste, whate'er his inclination,
On pain of excommunication.
Such Mahomet's mysterious charge,
And thus he left the point at large.
Had he the sinful part express’d,
They might with safety eat the rest;
But for one piece they thought it hard
From the whole hog to be debarr'd;
And set their wit at work to find
What joint the prophet had in mind.
Much controversy straight arose,
These choose the back, the belly those;
By some 'tis confidently said
He meant not to forbid the head ;
While others at that doctrine rail,
And piously prefer the tail.
Thus conscience freed from every clog,
Mahometans eat up the hog.

You laugh—'tis well— The tale applied
May make you laugh ou t’other side.

181

And one,

ON THE DEATH OF A BULFINCH.
Renounce the world—the preacher cries.
We do-a multitude replies.
While one as innocent regards
A
shug and friendly game at cards ;
whatever

you may say,
Can see no evil in a play ;
Some love a concert, or a race;
And others shooting and the chase.
Reviled and loved, renounced and followed,
Thus, bit by bit, the world is swallowed;
Each thinks his neighbour makes too free,
Yet likes a slice as well as he:
With sophistry their sauce they sweeten,
Till quite from tail to snout 'tis eaten.

ON

THE DEATH

OF

MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCH.

Ye nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red
With tears o'er hapless favourites shed,

O share Maria's grief !
Her favourite, even in his cage,
(What will not hanger's cruel rage?)

Assassined by a thief.
Where Rhenus strays his vines among,
The egg was laid from which he sprung,

And though by nature mute,
Or only with a whistle blest,
Well-taught he all the sounds express’d

Of dagelet or flute.

18% ON THE DEATH OF A BULFINCH.

The honours of his ebon poll
Were brighter than the sleekest mole,

His bosom of the hue
With which Aurora decks the skies,
When piping winds shall soon arise

To sweep up all the dew.
Above, below, in all the house,
Dire foe alike to bird and mouse,

No cat had leave to dwell;
And Bully's cage supported stood
On
props

of smoothest shaven wood,

Large-built and latticed well.
Well-latticed—but the grate, alas !
Not rough with wire of steel or brass,

For Bully's plumage sake,
But smooth with wands from Ouse's side,
With which, when neatly peeled and dried,

The swains their baskets make.

Night veiled the pole. All seemed secure.
When led by instinct sharp and sure,

Subsistence to provide,
A beast forth sallied on the scout,
Long-backed, long-tailed, with whiskered snont,

And badger-coloured hide.
He, entering at the study-door,
Its ample area 'gan explore;

And something in the wind
Conjectured, sniffing round and round,
Better than all the books he found,

Food chiefly for the mind.

Just then, by adverse fate impressed,
A dream disturbed poor Bully's rest;

In sleep he seemed to view
A rat, fast clinging to the cage,
And screaming at the sad presage,

Awoke and found it true.
For, aided both by ear and scent,
Right to his mark the monster went-

Ah, muse! forbear to speak!
Minute the horrors that ensued ;
His teeth were strong, the cage was wood-

He left poor Bully's beak.
He left it—but he should have ta’en;
That beak, whence issued many a strain

Of such mellifluous tone,
Might have repaid him well, I wote,
For silencing so sweet a throat,

Fast set within his own.
Maria weeps—The Muses mourn-
So, when by Bacchanalians torn,

On Thracian Hebrus' side
The tree enchanter Orpheus fell;
His head alone remained to tell

The cruel death he died.

THE ROSE.

The rose had been washed, just washed in a shower,

Which Mary to Anna conveyed;
The plentiful moisture encumbered the flower,

And weighed down its beautiful bead.
The cup was all filled, and the leaves were all wet,

And it seemed to a fanciful view,
To weep for the bads it had left with regret,

On the flourishing bush where it grew.

I hastily seized it, unfit as it was,

For a nosegay, so dripping and drowned,
And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas !

I snapped it, it fell to the ground.
And such, I exclaimed, is the pitiless part

Some act by the delicate mind,
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart

Already to sorrow resigned.
This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,

Might have bloomed with its owner awhile, And the tear, that is wiped with a little address,

May be followed perhaps by a smile.

THE DOVES.

REASONING at every step he treads,

Man yet mistakes his way,
While meaner things, whom instinct leads,

Are rarely known to stray.
One silent eve I wandered late,

And heard the voice of love;
The turtle thus addressed her mate,

And soothed the listening dove:
Our mutual bond of faith and truth

No time shall disengage,
Those blessings of our early youth

Shall cheer our latest age :
While innocence without disguise,

And constancy sincere,
Shall fill the circles of those eyes,

And mine can read them there;

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