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If then your valour can the fright sustain
Of rattling curtains and the clinking chain,
If your courageous tongue has power to talk,
When round your bed the horrid ghost shall walk ;
If you dare ask it, why it leaves its tomb,
I'll see your sheets well air'd, and show the room.
Soon as the frighted maid her tale had told,
The stranger enter'd, for his heart was bold.

The damsel led him through a spacious hall,
Where ivy hung the half-demolish'd wall;
She frequent look'd behind, and chang'd her hue,
While fancy tipt the candle's flame with blue.
And now they gain'd the winding stairs ascent,
And to the lonesome room of terrors went.
When all was ready swift retir'd the maid,
The watch-lights burn, tuckt warm in bed was laid
The hardy stranger, and attends the sprite
'Till his accustom'd walk at dead of night.

At first he hears the wind with hollow roar Shake the loose lock, and swing the creaking door ; Nearer and nearer draws the dreadful found Of rattling chains, that dragg'd upon the ground: When lo, the spectre came with horrid ftride, Approach'd the bed, and drew the curtains wide; In human form the ghaftful phantom stood, Expos'd his mangled bosom dy'd with blood, Then filent pointing to his wounded breast, Thrice wav'd his hand. Beneath his frighted guest, The bed cords trembled, and with shudd'ring fear, Sweat chill'd his limbs, high rose his briftled hair; Then mutt'ring hasty pray'rs, he mann'd his heart, And cry'd aloud; Say, whence and who thou art ? The stalking ghost with hollow voice replies, Three years are counted, since with mortal eyes I faw the fun, and vital air refpir'd. Like thee benighted, and with travel tir'd, Within these walls I slept. O thirst of gain ! See still the planks the bloody marks retain; Stretch'd on this very bed, fiom sleep I start, And fee the steel impending o'er my heart; The barb'rous hostess held the lifted knife, The floor ran purple with my gushing life.

My treasure now they seize, the golden spoil
They bury deep beneath the grafs-grown foil,
Far in the common field. Be bold, arife,
My steps shall lead thee to thy secret prize;
There dig and find; let that thy care reward:
Call loud on justice, bid her not retard
To punish murder; lay my ghost at rest,
So shall with peace secure thy nights be blest;
And when beneath these boards my bones are found,
Decent inter them in some facred ground.

Here ceas'd the ghost. The stranger springs from bed, And boldly follows where the phantom led; The half worn stony stairs they now descend, Where passages obscure their arches bend, Silent they walk; and now through groves they pass, Now through wet meads their steps imprint the grass; At length amidst a spacious field they came : There stops the spectre, and ascends in flame. Amaz'd he stood, no bush, nor briar was found, To teach his morning search to find the ground; What could he do? the night was hideous dark, Fear shook his joints, and nature dropt the MARK; With that he starting wak'd, and rais'd his head, But found the golden MARK was left in bed.

T

CHAP. XVI.

Of FABLES.

HE Fable differs little from the Tale, except in this, that it is allegorical, and generally introduces animals, and things inanimate, as persons discoursing together, and delivering Precepts for the improvement of mankind.

This species of composition was invented, we may suppose, to convey truth in an indirect manner, and under feigned characters, in cases where to speak plainly, and directly to the purpose, might not be so safe or so effectual. We find this use made of it even in the Holy Scriptures. Jotham's parable of the trees in the ninth chapter of Judges is a kind of Fable, as is also that of Nathan's poor man and his lamb; which, as Mr. Addifon observes, conveyed instruction to the ear of a king without offence, and brought David to a proper sense of his guilt, and of his duty. Asop, we may suppose, read his lectures in this manner as well for the sake of fafety, as to make them more agreeable; and we are told that in the beginning of the Roman Commonwealth, a mutiny was appeased, and the incenfed rabble reduced to reason, by a Fable of the belly and the limbs; when a man would have been torn in pieces, perhaps, who had preached the same doctrine to them in any other manner.

It is always expected that these compositions should inculcate some moral, or useful lesson, for when deficient in this respect, they are of little, or no value. Take an example from Mr. Gay.

The JUGGLERS. A FABLE. By Mr. GAY.

A JUGGLER long through all the town
Had rais'd his fortune and renown;
You'd think (fo far his art transcends)
The devil at his fingers ends.

Vice heard his fame, the read his bill;
Convinc'd of his inferior skill,
She fought his booth, and from the crowd
Defy'd the man of art aloud.

Is this then he so fam'd for flight,
Can this flow bungler cheat your fight,
Dares he with me dispute the prize ?
I leave it to impartial eyes.

Provok'd, the juggler cry'd, 'tis done.
In science I submit to none.
'Thus faid, the cups and balls he play'd;
By turns, this here, that there, convey'd;
The cards obedient to his words,
Are by a fillip turn'd to birds;
His little boxes change the grain,
Trick after trick deludes the train.

He shakes his bag, he shows all fair,
His fingers spread, and nothing there.
Then bids it rain with showers of gold,
And now his iv'ry eggs are told.
But when from thence the hen he draws,
Amaz'd spectators hum applause.

Vice now stept forth and took the place
With all the forms of his grimace.

This magick looking glass, she cries, (There, hand it round) will charm your eyes : Each eager eye the fight defir'd, And ev'ry man himself admir'd. Next, to a fenator addressing;. See this Bank-note; observe the blessing; Breathe on the bill, Heigh, pass! 'Tis gone. Upon his lips a padlock shone. A fecond puff the magick broke, The padlock vanish'd, and he spoke. Twelve bottles rang'd upon the board, All full, with heady liquor stor'd, By clean conveyance disappear, And now too bloody swords are there.

A purse she to the thief expos'd;
At once his ready fingers clos'd;
He opes his fist, the treasures fled;
He fees a halter in its stead.

She bids ambition hold a wand,
He grafps a hatchet in his hand.
A box of charity she shows :
Blow here, and a church warden blows
'Tis vanish'd with conveyance neat,
And on the table smokes a treat.

She thakes the dice, the board she knocks. And from all pockets fills her box.

She next a meager rake addrest
This picture fee; her shape, her breast!
What youth, and what inviting eyes!
Hold her, and have her. With surprise,
His hand expos'd a box of pills;
And a loud laugh proclaim'd his ills.

A counter, in a mifer's hand,
Grew twenty guineas at command;

She bids his heir the sum retain,
And 'tis a counter now again.

A guinea with a touch you see
Take ev'ry shape but Charity;
And not one thing you saw, or drew,
But chang'd from what was first in view.

The juggler now, in grief of heart,
With this submission own'd her art.
Can I such matchless flight withstand ?
How practice hath improv'd your hand!
But now and then I cheat the throng;
You ev'ry day, and all day long.

Mr. Moore has convey'd a very useful and important lesson to the ladies, and represented disagreeable truths in a pleasing manner, by the following Fable.

The POET and his PATRON. A Fable. By Mr. MOORE.

Why, Calia, is your spreading waift

So loose, so negligently lac'd ?
Why must the wrapping bed-gown hide,
Your snowy bosom's swelling pride ?
How ill that dress adorns your head,
Distain'd, and rumpled from the bed!
Those clouds, that shade your blooming face,
A little water might displace,
As nature every morn bestows,
The crystal dew, to cleanse the rose.
Those treffes, as the raven black
That wav'd in ringlets down your back,
Uncomb'd, and injur'd by neglect,
Destroy the face, which once they deck'd.

Whence this forgetfulness of dress ?
Pray, madam, are you marry'd? Yes.
Nay, then indeed the wonder ceases,
No matter now how loose your dress is;
'The end is won, your fortune's made,
Your fifter now may take the trade.
Alas! what pity 'tis to find
This fault in half the female kind!

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