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The Sparrow her reply began,
And thus the converfation ran:
Whenever I'm difpos'd to dine,
I think the whole creation mine;
That I'm a bird of high degree,
And every infect made for me.
Hence oft I fearch the emmet brood,
For emmets are delicious food:
And oft in wantonnefs and play,
I flay ten thousand in a day.
For truth it is, without disguise,
That I love mischief as my eyes,

Oh! fie, the honest Bee reply'd,
I fear you make base man your guide;
Of every creature fure the worst,
Though in creation's fcale the first!
Ungrateful man! 'tis ftrange he thrives,
Who burns the Bees, to rob their hives!
I hate his vile administration,

And fo do all the emmet nation.
What fatal foes to birds are men,
Quite to the Eagle from the Wren?
O! do not men's example take,
Who mischief do for mischief's fake;
But fpare the Ant-her worth demands
Efteem and friendship at your hands.

A mind

A mind with every virtue bleft,
Muft raife compaffion in your breast.
Virtue! rejoin'd the fneering bird,
Where did you learn that gothic word?
Since I was hatch'd, I never heard
That virtue was at all rever'd.

But fay it was the ancients' claim,
Yet moderns difavow the name;
Unless, my dear, you read romances,
I cannot reconcile your fancies.
Virtue in fairy tales is feen

To play the goddess or the queen;
But what's a queen without the pow'r,
Or beauty, child, without a dow'r?
Yet this is all that virtue brags,
At beft 'tis only worth in rags.
Such whims my very heart derides,
Indeed

you make me burst my fides.
Trust me, Mifs Bee-to speak the truth,
I've copied men from earliest youth;
The same our taste, the fame our school,
Paffion and appetite our rule.
And call me bird, or call me finner,
I'll ne'er forego my sport or dinner.
A prowling cat the miscreant spies,
And wide expands her amber eyes:

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Near and more near Grimalkin draws,
She wags her tail, protends her paws;
Then springing on her thoughtless prey,
She bore the vicious bird away.

Thus in her cruelty and pride,
The wicked wanton Sparrow dy'd.

ODE ON A STOR M2.

ITH gallant pomp, and beauteous pride,

WIT

The floating pile in harbour rode,

Proud of her freight, the fwelling tide
Reluctant left the vessel's fide,

And rais'd it as fhe flow'd.

The waves with Eastern breezes curl'd,
Had filyer'd half the liquid plain;
The anchors weigh'd, the fails unfurl'd,
Serenely mov'd the wooden world,

And stretch'd along the main.

The fcaly natives of the deep

Prefs to admire the vast machine,

In fporting gambols round it leap,
Or fwimming low, due diftance keep,

In homage to their queen.

a Written on board his Majesty's fhip the Canterbury, after he had

loft all her maits.

Thus,

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Thus, as life glides in gentle gale,
Pretended friendship waits on pow'r,
But early quits the borrow'd veil
When adverse Fortune fhifts the fail,
And haftens to devour.

In vain we fly approaching ill,
Danger can multiply its form;
Expos'd we fly like Jonas still,
And heaven, when 'tis heaven's will,
O'ertakes us in a storm.

The distant furges foamy white

Foretel the furious blaft;

Dreadful, though diftant was the fight,
Confed'rate winds and waves unite,

And merrace every mast.

Winds whistling through the shrouds proclaim
A fatal harvest on the deck;

Quick in purfuit as active flame,
Too foon the rolling ruin came,
And ratify'd the wreck.

Thus Adam fmil'd with new-born grace,
Life's flame infpir'd by heav'nly breath:

Thus the fame breath fweeps off his race,
Disorders Nature's beauteous face,

And spreads difeafe and death.

Stripp'd

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With inward deeper groans condoles
The danger of her crew.

Now what avails it to be brave,
On liquid precipices hung?
Sufpended on a breaking wave,
Beneath us yawn'd a sea-green grave,
And filenc'd every tongue.

The faithlefs flood forfook her keel,

And downward launch'd the labʼring hull,

Stunn'd fhe forgot awhile to reel,

And felt almoft, or feem'd to feel,

A momentary lull.

Thus in the jaws of death we lay,

Nor light, nor comfort found us there,

Loft in the gulph and floods of spray

No fun to chear us, nor a ray
Of hope, but all defpair.

The nearer shore, the more despair,
While certain ruin waits on land;
Should we pursue our wishes there,
Soon we recant the fatal pray'r,

And strive to fhun the strand.

At

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