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Still is the toiling hand of Care;
'The panting herds repose :
The busy murmur glows!
And float amid the liquid noon:
Quick-glancing to the sun.
To Contemplation's sober eye
Such is the race of Man:
Shall end where they began.
In Fortune's varying colours drest: Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance, Or chill’d by Age, their airy dance
They leave, in dust to rest.
Methinks I hear, in accents low,
The sportive kind reply:
A solitary fly!
No painted plumage to display:
DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT,
DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLD FISHES.
"Twas on a lofty vase's side,
The azure flowers, that blow;
Gaz’d on the lake below.
Her conscious tail her joy declar'd;
The velvet of her paws,
She saw; and purr'd applause.
Still had sbe gaz'd; but ’midst the tide
The Genii of the stream:
The hapless nymph with wonder saw;
With many an ardent wish,
What Cat's averse to fish?
Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Nor knew the gulf between.
She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood,
od Some speedy aid to send. :) No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirrid : Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard.
A fay'rite has no friend!
From hence, ye beauties, undeceiv'd,
And be with caution bold.
Nor all, that glisters, gold.
DRAWN BY RICHARD WESTALL,RA. ENGRAVED BY W RADCLIFFE: PUBLISHED BY JOHN SHARPE, PICCADILLY:
DEC. 1. 1820.