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A starving Kite, upon a bar (Worn out with long fatigues of war), Whose pointed claws, and hooked bill, Shew'd his profession was to kill, Thus grieving spoke in doleful strain: (Your heart will pity and disdain)———

"How blind is everything on earth! And how injurious to my worth! Tho' all the cote my sorrow see, No dove will help me with a pea : Hob's field they robb'd a month together, I never hurt a single feather;

The lark, whom I secure to rest

(I slew the snake that robb'd her nest),
Will not a little worm supply;
But would rejoice to see me die.
No crow invites me to a treat,
Tho' what I kill'd he often eat.
Man, were he grateful, would determine
My merit in destroying vermin;
And make me happy to the last,
In justice to my service past.
But man, that thankless wretch is he,
Prefers yon Nightingale to me."

"Alas! (the Nightingale replies)

I own my little merit lies

In innocence and tender cares
About my family affairs;

Or chaunting soft a pretty tale,
To please my neighbours of the vale;
Perhaps we gratitude may want,

Because you are too arrogant :

Your worth, display'd with all your skill,
Lies chiefly in omitting ill;

And only then for want of power
To seize the dove you would devour.
There's not a lark that flies, but knows
You long to grasp her in your claws.
The crow you never meant to treat;
You left him what you could not eat;
And man, who most a villain needs,
Detests you for your wicked deeds.
You pilfer duckling, game, and chicken,
Which furnish man with dainty picking.
There's not a poacher roams the wood,
But who would shoot you, if he could."

Just had he said; forth pops a spark, With gun and spaniel from the park; The Kite he kens, with levell'd gun, And brings the bloody boaster down.

Thus justly villains are repaid,
Who follow mischief as a trade:
Who merit can pretend alone,
When cruel work is to be done,
To crush their kindred sort of men
With sword, with halter, or with pen ;
Whose hollow merit is, at best,

To seem the most, and be the least;
Who own no right, pursue no guide,
But only interest or pride;
Or both together do prefer,
To run most certainly to err.

Such always claim beyond their due,
And always think you wrong them too;

Do all the wrong, yet most complain,
Whene'er they spread the net in vain;
Or bait a hook that fails to catch

The simple trout for which they watch;
And innocence, with squint and frown,
Condemn for vices all their own.

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RIENDSHIP! source of bliss sedate, Best balm for all the wounds of fate! 'Tis thine the sinking heart to raise, When love retires, and health decays; Unmix'd with thy sublimer fire, Love's but a fev'rish low desire, And ill the self-destroying flame Deserves that soft angelic name.

Oh! could this verse, this fabling lay,
Extend or but confirm thy sway!
Or, warn'd by this, if only one
Thy foes' destructive arts shall shun!

Since dangers rise with every sun,
With ev'ry sand united run;
Four Bulls, by mutual vows ally'd,
The morrow's unknown ills defy'd;
As one they mov'd, they fought, they fed,
And safety rose by union bred,

Nor this alone the good they found,
The private bliss of each went round;
Hence doubly bless'd the gen'rous heart,
Which scorns the bliss it can't impart.
From day to day the Lion came,
But matters still appear'd the same:
This smote his inmost soul with grief,
For much he long'd for fav'rite beef;
What can he do? he fears to wage
Unequal war, and four engage.
Thought follows thought-he finds in vain :
Yet thought to thought succeeds again.
Half-form'd resolves, and embryo schemes,
And all the train of statesmen's dreams,
With conflict rude disturb his mind,
To this nor that success inclin'd.
Suspense presides with fluttering wings,
From which she shakes a thousand stings.

In this disastrous doubting case,
The Fox appears-with thinking face;
On him his royal master laid

His load of care, secure of aid;

Who paus'd a while with sober grace,
Then thus refin'd upon the case:-

Not things of moment most, I find,
Have broke the union of the mind;
Ev'n mere mistakes, that pet or pride
Have made, the sacred band divide,
And deepest enmities arise

From trifling things among the wise.
In friendship, slight's the deepest wound,
And that is fancy'd more than found.
These hints improv'd, our ends may gain,
The Bulls divided, count 'em slain n;
The Lion, pleas'd, reply'd, he knew
The Fox could forge a lie-or two;
Which he opin'd, in points like this,
Would not be very much amiss.

Here wiser Reynard shook his head,
And this would never do, he said:
'Tis ours to make these foolish elves,
My lord, be liars to themselves:
Suspicion rais'd, the very eye
Will unsuspected gravely lie,
And, when a friend it shall survey,
Th' idea of a foe display,

As you shall see-Away he flew,
And, to the friends as near he drew,
He smooth'd his brow, he coin'd a smile,
And put on all the masks of guile.
Then whispers one with friendly nod?
"Mark, is not yon behaviour odd?
The Bull must surely mean affront,
His tail is next you-fie upon 't!

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