WITH malice fell,
A spider watch'd within his cell,
Ready to fally,
Th' unwary traveller to souse,
Like a Jew broker in the alley,
Or a Dutch merchant in his counting-house,
Like them he corresponded far and near,
And, tho' his trade was intricate and dark,
He manag'd his affairs and kept all clear,
Without a partner or a clerk.
A petit maître, a gaudy fly,
Thinking to scamper unmolested,
With airy equipage as he pass'd by,
By cruel Cacus was arrested.
Furnish'd with that undaunted sense,
Which only courts and camps can teach,
Having no weapon or defence,
Except his instrument of speech,
The fly with flattering soporific strains,
Tried to benumb the spider's brains:
Hearing fuch daily praise bestow'd,
Upon your elegance in weaving,
I came to visit your abode,
Which is magnificent beyond believing.
And now I am convinc'd, if you will drop
And take to weaving velvets and brocade,
The fallad-eaters soon must shut up shop,
Change but your diet, and, like their's, your taste
Will grow refin'd, correct and chaste.
As I have study'd every herb and leaf,
That's either noxious or good to eat,
Make me your caterer in chief,
And pourveyor of all your meat.
Send me this instant in a trice,
I'll bring you something favoury and nice.
Seeing
Seeing the spider smile and grin,
He found his plot would not fucceed,
For one of that sagacious breed;
On which he fell a vapouring and buzzing,
Swearing the drones would take the alarm,
And come to the assistance of their cousin
With an enormous swarm.
The drones and I are no such strangers,
We know, faid Cacus, what we both can do,
They are too wife to run their heads in dangers,
For fuch a busy meddling fool as you;
But, fince you come to spoil our manufacture,
And poison honest traders,
I'll hang you like a malefactor,
To terrify invaders.
No fooner faid than done,
He knock'd him down, and hung him in the fun.
The spider, like Mynheer, goes on:
Is watchful, fubtle, and alert,
The fly is either proud, like Don;
Or like a Frenchman vain and pert.
When you are plagu'd with any flies,
Spanish or French, small flies or great,
Maintain your high spider allies,
In order to preferve your meat,
THE WILD DUCKS AND THE WATER SPANIEL.
AFTER a tedious flight,
Of many a stormy day and night;
A flock of wild ducks failing up and down,
Upon a lake were making merry;
Like sailors in a fea-port town
Just arriv'd from Pondicherry.
A fwan too stately far for sport,
To shew herself was all her view,
Had undertaken to escort
The jovial crew.
Swelling and bridling
With all the airs of a fine dame at court;
Turning about and fidling,
Advancing and then stopping short,
Displaying in her features
Contempt and infolent dejection,
To fignify that those strange creatures
Were forc'd upon her for protection.
I must confefs, amongst mankind
I have feen swans as foolishly inclin'd.
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