She chose the tallest tree in all the wood, What then could bring her down?

Or make the prize his own?

Nothing but flatt'ry could.

He soon the silence broke,

And thus ingenious hunger spoke:
"Oh, lovely bird,

Whose glossy plumage oft has stirr'd
The envy of the grove;

Thy form was Nature's pleasing care,
So bright a bloom, so soft an air,
All that behold must love.
But, if to suit a form like thine,
Thy voice be as divine;

If both in these together meet,
The feather'd race must own
Of all their tribe there's none,

Of form so fair, of voice so sweet.
Who'll then regard the linnet's note,
Or heed the lark's melodious throat?
What pensive lovers then shall dwell
With raptures on their Philomel?
The goldfinch shall his plumage hide,
The swan abate her stately pride,
And Juno's bird no more display
His various glories to the sunny day:
Then grant thy Suppliant's prayer,
And bless my longing ear

With notes that I would die to hear!"
Flattery prevail'd, the Crow believ'd
The tale, and was with joy deceiv'd;
In haste to show her want of skill,
She open'd wide her bill:

She scream'd as if the de'el was in her;

Her vanity became so strong

That, wrapt in her own frightful song,

She quite forgot, and dropt her dinner: The morsel fell quick by the place

Where Reynard lay,

Who seized the prey

And eat it without saying grace.

He, sneezing, cried "The day's my own,

My end's obtain'd,

The prize is gain'd,

And now I'll change my note.

Vain, foolish, cheated Crow,
Lend your attention now,
A truth or two I'll tell you!
For, since I've fill'd my belly,

Of course my flatt'ry's done:
Think you I took such pains,

And spoke so well only to hear you croak?
No, 't was the luscious bait,

And a keen appetite to eat,

That first inspir'd, and carried on the cheat.
'T was hunger furnish'd hands and matter,
Flatterers must live by those they flatter;
But weep not, Crow; a tongue like mine
Might turn an abler head than thine;
And though reflection may displease,
If wisely you apply your thought,
To learn the lesson I have taught,
Experience, sure, is cheaply bought,

And richly worth a slice of cheese."

THE PIG AND MAGPIE.

COCKING his tail, a saucy prig,

A Magpie hopped upon a Pig,

PETER PINDAR.

To pull some hair, forsooth, to line his nest;
And with such ease began the hair attack,
As thinking the fee simple of the back

Was by himself, and not the Pig, possessed.

The Boar looked up as thunder black to Mag,
Who, squinting down on him like an arch wag,
Informed Mynheer some bristles must be torn;
Then briskly went to work, not nicely culling:
Got a good handsome beakful by good pulling,
And flew, without a "Thank ye" to his thorn.

The Pig set up a dismal yelling:

Followed the robber to his dwelling,

Who like a fool had built it 'midst a bramble: In manfully he sallied, full of might,

Determined to obtain his right,

And 'midst the bushes now began to scramble.

He drove the Magpie, tore his nest to rags,
And, happy on the downfall, poured his brags:
But ere he from the brambles came, alack!
His ears and eyes were miserably torn,
His bleeding hide in such a plight forlorn,
He could not count ten hairs upon his back.

ADVICE TO YOUNG WOMEN;

OR, THE ROSE AND STRAWBERRY.

PETER PINDAR.

YOUNG Women! don't be fond of killing,
Too well I know your hearts unwilling
To hide beneath the vail a charm-
Too pleased a sparkling eye to roll,
And with a neck to thrill the soul
Of every swain with love's alarm.

Yet, yet, if prudence be not near
Its snow may melt into a tear.

The dimple smile, and pouting lip,
Where little Cupids nectar sip,
Are very pretty lures I own:

But, ah! if prudence be not nigh, Those lips where all the Cupids lie, May give a passage to a groan.

A Rose, in all the pride of bloom, Flinging around her rich perfume, Her form to public notice pushing, Amid the summer's golden glow, Peeped on a Strawberry below, Beneath a leaf, in secret blushing.

"Miss Strawberry," exclaimed the Rose, "What's beauty that no mortal knows? What is a charm, if never seen?

You really are a pretty creature:

Then wherefore hide each blooming feature? Come up, and show your modest mien."

"Miss Rose," the Strawberry replied, "I never did possess a pride That wished to dash the public eye: Indeed, I own that I'm afraidI think there's safety in the shade, Ambition causes many a sigh."

"Go, simple child," the Rose rejoined, "See how I wanton in the wind: I feel no danger's dread alarms: And then observe the god of day, How amorous with his golden ray, To pay his visits to my charms!"

No sooner said, but with a scream
She started from her favorite theme-

A clown had on her fixed his pat.

In vain she screeched-Hob did but smile; Rubbed with her leaves his nose awhile, Then bluntly stuck her in his hat.

ECONOMY.

ECONOMY's a very useful broom;

PETER PINDAR

Yet should not ceaseless hunt about the room
To catch each straggling pin to make a plumb:
Too oft Economy's an iron vice,

That squeezes even the little guts of mice,

That peep with fearful eyes, and ask a crumb.

Proper Economy's a comely thing-
Good in a subject-better in a king;

Yet pushed too far, it dulls each finer feeling-
Most easily inclined to make folks mean;
Inclines them too, to villainy to lean,

To over-reaching, perjury, and stealing.

Even when the heart should only think of grief,
It creeps into the bosom like a thief,

And swallows

up

th' affections all so mild

Witness the Jewess, and her only child :

THE JEWESS AND HER SON.

Poor Mistress Levi had a luckless son,
Who, rushing to obtain the foremost seat,
In imitation of th' ambitious great,
High from the gallery, ere the play begun,
He fell all plump into the pit,

Dead in a minute as a nit:

In short, he broke his pretty Hebrew neck;
Indeed and very dreadful was the wreck!

The mother was distracted, raving, wild-
Shrieked, tore her hair, embraced and kissed her child—
Afflicted every heart with grief around:
Soon as the shower of tears was somewhat past,
And moderately calm th' hysteric blast,

She cast about her eyes in thought profound:
And being with a saving knowledge blessed,
She thus the playhouse manager addressed:

"Sher, I'm de moder of de poor Chew lad,
Dat meet mishfartin here so bad-

Sher, I muss haf de shilling back, you know,
Ass Moses haf not see de show."

But as for Avarice, 'tis the very devil;
The fount, alas! of every evil:

The cancer of the heart-the worst of ills:
Wherever sown, luxuriantly it thrives;
No flower of virtue near it lives:

Like aconite, where'er it spreads, it kills.