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A Tortoise heard his vain oration,
And vented thus his indignation.
Oh Puss! it bodes thee dire disgrace,
When I defy thee to the race.
Come, 'tis a match, nay, no denial,
I lay my shell upon the trial.

'Twas done and gone, all fair, a bet, Judges prepar'd, and distance set.

The scamp'ring Hare outstript the wind, The creeping Tortoise laggʻd behind, And scarce had pass'd a single pole, When Puss had almost reach'd the goal. “ Friend Tortoise," quoth the jeering Hare, “ Your burthen's more than you can bear, " To help your speed, it were as well • That I should ease you of your

shell: “ Jog on a little faster prythee, “ I'll take a nap, and then be with thee.". So said, so done, and safely sure, For say, what conquest more secure ? Whene'er he wak'd (that's all that's in it) He could o'ertake him in a minute.

The Tortoise heard his taunting jeer,
But still resolv'd to persevere,
Still draw'd along, as who should say,
I'll win, like Fabius, by delay;

On to the goal securely crept,
While Puss unknowing soundly slept.

The bets were won, the Hare awake, When thus the victor Tortoise spake. “ Puss, tho' I own thy quicker parts,

Things are not always done by starts. “ You may deride my aukward pace, “ But slow and steady wins the race.”

A TALE.

100000

Venus, of laughter queen and love, The greatest demirep above, Who scorn'd restriction, hated custom, Knew her own sex too well to trust 'em, Proceeded on the noble plan, At any rate, to have her man; Look'd on decorum, as mere trash, And liv'd like *** and ***, From Paphos, where they her revere As much as we do Cælia here, Or from Cythera, where her altars Are deck'd with daggers, true-love halters, Garters yclept, and other trophies, Which prove that man in love an oaf is, According to appointment, came To see CÆCILIA, tuneful dame, Whose praise by Dryden's Ode is grown Bright and immortal as his own, And who hath been for many years The chief directress of the spheres.

Thomas, who rode behind the car,
And for a Aambeau held a star,
Who, in the honest way of trade,
Hath forg’d more horns, and cuckolds made,
Than Vulcan and his brawny dolts
Ever for Jove forg'd thunderbolts,
Slipt gently down, and ran before 'em,
Ringing the bell with due decorum.

But, truth to say, I cannot tell
Whether it Knocker was or Bell,
(This for virtù an anecdote is)
Wbich us’d to give CÆCILIA notice,
When any lady of the sky
Was come to bear her company.
But this I'm sure, be which it will,
Thomas perform'd his part with skill.

Methinks I hear the reader cry-
His part with skill? why, You or I,
Or any body else, as well
As Thomas, sure, could ring a bell,
Nor did I ever hear before
Of skill in knocking at a door.

Poor low-liv'd creature! I suppose,
Nay, and am sure, you're one of those
Who, at what door soe'er they be,
Will always knock in the same key.

Thinking that Bell and Knocker too
Were found out nothing else to do,
But to inform the house, no doubt,
That there was somebody without,
Who, if they might such favour win,
Would rather chuse, to be within.

But had our servants no more sense,
Lord! what must be the consequence ?
Error would error still pursue,
And strife and anarchy ensue,
Punctilio from her altar hurl'd,
Whence she declares unto the world
Whate'er by fancy is decreed,
Thro' all her niceties must bleed.

For if there was not to be found Some wholesome difference of sound, But the same rap foretold the approach Of him who walk'd, or rode in coach, A poor relation now and then, Might to my Lord admittance gain, When his good Lordship hop'd to see Some rascal of his own degree; And, what is more unhappy still, The stupid wretch who brings a bill, Might pass thro' all the motley tribe, As free as one, who brings a bribe.

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