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Should deem it by our old companion made,
The ass; for he, we know, has lately Aray'd,
And being loft, perhaps, and wand'ring wide,
Might be suppos'd to clamour for a guide.
But, ah! those dreadful yells what soul can hear,
That owns a carcase, and not quake for fear?
Dæmons produce them, doubtless, brazen claw'd
And fang'd with brass the dæmons are abroad;
I hold it, therefore, wifest and most fit,
That, life to save, we leap into the pit.

Him answer'd then his loving mate and true, But more discreet than he, a Cambrian ewe.

How ? leap into the pit our life to fave? To save our life leap all into the grave ? For can we find it less ? Contemplate first The depth how awful! falling there, we burst; Or should the brambles, interpos'd, our fall In part abate, that happiness were small; For with a race like theirs no chance I see Of peace or ease to creatures clad as we. Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray, Or be it not, or be it whose it may, And rush those other sounds, that seem by tongues Of dæmons utter'd, from whatever lungs, Sounds are but sounds, and till the cause appear, We have at least commodious standing here.

с с 3

Come, fiend, come, fury, giant, monster, blast
From earth or hell, we can but plunge at last.

While thus the spake, I fainter heard the peals,
For Reynard, close attended at his heels,
By panting dog, tir'd man, and spatter'd horse,
Through mere good fortune, took a diff'rent course.
The fock grew calm again, and I, the road
Following that led me to my own abode,
Much wonder'd that the filly sheep had found
Such cause of terror in an empty sound,
So sweet to huntsman, gentleman, and hound.


Beware of desp’rate steps. The darkest day (Live till to-morrow) will have pass’d away.



The noon was shady, and soft airs

Swept Ouse's silent tide,
When, fcap'd from literary cares,

I wander'd on his side.

My spaniel, prettiest of his race,

And high in pedigree, (Two nymphs *, adorn'd with ev'ry grace,

That spaniel found for me)

Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds,

Now starting into fight
Pursued the swallow o'er the meads

With scarce a slower flight.

It was the time when Ouse display'd

His lilies newly blown;
Their beauties I intent survey'd,
And one I wish'd my own.

* Sir Robert Gunning's daughters.

With cane extended far I fought

To steer it close to land; But still the prize, though nearly caught,

Escap'd my eager hand,

Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains

With fixt consid'rate face,
And puzzling sat his puppy brains

To comprehend the case.

But with a chirrup clear and strong,

Dispersing all his dream,
I thence withdrew, and follow'd long

The windings of the stream.

My ramble finishd, I return'd.

Beau trotting far before
The floating wreath again discern'd,

And plunging left the shore.

I saw him with that lily cropp'd

Impatient swim to meet My quick approach, and soon be dropp'd

The treasure at my feet.

Charm'd with the light, the world, I cried,

Shall hear of this thy deed, My dog shall mortify the pride

Of man's superior breed;

But, chief, myself I will enjoin,

Awake at duty's call,
To show a love as prompt as thinę

To Him who gives me all.

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