Sidor som bilder
PDF
ePub

A forward Hare, of swiftnefs vain,
The Genius of the neighb'ring plain,
Wou'd oft deride the drudging croud :
For Geniuses are ever proud.

He'd boast, his flight 'twere vain to follow,
For dog and horse he'd beat them hollow,
Nay, if he put forth all his strength,
Outstrip his brethren half a length.

A Tortoife heard his vain oration,
And vented thus his indignation.
Oh Pufs, it bodes thee dire difgrace,
When I defy thee to the race.
Come, 'tis a match, nay, no denial,
I lay my shell upon the trial.

'Twas done and done, all fair, a bet, Judges prepar'd, and distance fet.

The scamp'ring Hare outftript the wind, The creeping Tortoise lagg'd behind,

And

And scarce had pafs'd a fingle pole,
When Puss had almost reach'd the goal.
Friend Tortoife, quoth the jeering Hare,
Your burthen's more than you can bear,
To help your speed, it were as well
That I should ease you of your fhell:
Jog on a little fafter pr'ythee,

I'll take a nap, and then be with thee.
So faid, fo done, and fafely fure,

For fay, what conqueft more fecure?
Whene'er he wak'd (that's all that's in it)
He could o'ertake him in a minute.

The Tortoife heard his taunting jeer,
But still refolv'd to persevere,

Still drawl'd along, as who should say,
I'll win, like Fabius, by delay;
On to the goal securely crept,

While Pufs unknowing foundly flept.

The

The bets were won, the Hare awake,
When thus the victor Tortoise spake.
Pufs, tho' I own thy quicker parts,
Things are not always done by starts.
You may deride my awkward pace,
But flow and feady wins the race.

[ocr errors][merged small]

The SATYR and PEDLAR, 1757.

WORDS are, fo Wollafton defines,

WORDS

Of our ideas merely figns,

Which have a pow'r at will to vary,

As being vague and arbitrary.

Now damn'd for instance—all agree,
Damn'd's the fuperlative degree;
Means that alone, and nothing more,
However taken heretofore;

Damn'd is a word can't ftand alone,
Which has no meaning of its own,
But fignifies or bad or good
Just as its neighbour's understood.
Examples we may find enough,

Damn'd high, damnd low, damn'd fine, damn'd ftuff.

So fares it too with its relation,

I mean its fubftantive, damnation.

The wit with metaphors makes bold,

And tells you he's damnation cold;

Perhaps

Perhaps, that metaphor forgot,

The felf-fame wit's damnation hot.

And here a fable I remember -
Once in the middle of December,
When ev'ry mead in fnow is loft,
And ev'ry river bound with froft,
When families get all together,
And feelingly talk o'er the weather;
When pox on the descriptive rhyme
In fhort it was the winter time.
It was a Pedlar's happy lot,

To fall into a Satyr's cot:

Shiv'ring with cold, and almoft froze,
With pearly drop upon his nose,
His fingers' ends all pinch'd to death,
He blew upon them with his breath.
“Friend, quoth the Satyr, what intends
"That blowing on thy fingers ends?
"It is to warm them thus I blow,
"For they are froze as cold as fnow.

« And

« FöregåendeFortsätt »