Nothing could make you all fo keen,

And curs'd,

But that which makes you all fo lean,
Hunger and thirst.

So now and then a judge

Configns a wretch

To mafter Ketch,

Having no grudge,

No reafon that can be affigned,

Only, like you, he has not dined.

So far from wishing your allowance shorter,
I wish, for all our fakes,

That

you may never want beef-stakes

And porter;

And, for your merits,

A dram of British spirits.
And fo I leave you with a fable,

Defigned, without a sneer,

To exhilarate your table,

And give a flavour to your beer.

Hark!

Hark!

And if you please take warning:

My fable is concerning

A Cuckow and a Lark.

If I had faid a nightingale,

You would have cry'd,

You could not fail,

That it was pride,

And nought befide,

That made me think of fuch a tale.

Upon a tree as they were fitting,

They fell into a warm dispute,

Warmer than was fitting,

Which of them was the better flute ;

After much prating and debating,

Not worth relating,

Things came to fuch a pass,

They both agree

To take an Afs

For referee.

The afs was ftudying botany and grass,

Under the tree.

What

What do you think was his decree?

Why, fays the afs, the queftion is not hard,

And fo he made an excellent award,

As you fhall fee.

The Lark, fays he,

Has got a wild fantastic pipe,
But no more music than a snipe;

It gives one pain, and turns one's brain,
One can't keep time to such a strain ;

Whereas the Cuckow's note

Is measur'd, and compos'd with thought.
His method is diftin&t and clear,

And dwells,

Like bells,

Upon the ear.

Which is the finest mufic one can hear.

I can distinguish, I'll lay a wager,

His manner and expreffion,

From every forefter and cager

Of the profeffion.

This ended the difpute, the Cuckow was quite mute With admiration :

The

The Lark ftood laughing at the brute

Affecting fo much penetration.

The Afs was fo intoxicated,

And fhallow-pated,

That, ever fince,

He has got a fancy in his skull

That he has a commiffion from his prince,

Dated when the moon's at full,

To fummon every foul,

Every Afs and Afs's foal,

To try the quick and dull, Trumpeting through the fields and streets, Stopping and judging all he meets.

All that he knows,

That I can find,

Is from the information of his nofe

Apply'd unto the parts behind;

And by the smell,

'Tis wonderful how he will tell,

Whether their parts are to his mind;

Pronouncing with an air

Of one pronouncing from the chair,

Here

Here is a beauty! This is new!

And that's a blemish,

For which I have no relish;

Just like the CRITICAL REVIEW!

FABLES