Ae day a Rattan, white as milk,
At a cat's shrine was sacrific'd,
And pompous on the altar bled:
The victim much god Badrans pleas'd.
The neist day was god Rattan's tour;
And that he might propitious smile,
A Cat is to his temple brought,
Priests singing round him a' the while.
Odes, anthems, hymns, in verse and prose,
With instruments of solemn sound,
Praying the lang-tail'd deity
To bless their faulds and furrow'd ground.
"O! plague us not with cats," they cry'd, "For this we cut ane's throat to thee."
"A bonny god indeed!" quoth Puss; 66 Can ye believe sae great a lie?
"What am I then that eat your god?
And yesterday to me ye bow'd;
This day I'm to that vermin offer'd:
God save us! ye're a senseless crowd."
The close reflection gart them glowr,
And shook their thoughts haf out of joint; But rather than be fash'd with thought,
They gart the ax decide the point.
Thus we're Egyptians ane and a';
Our passions gods, that gar us swither;
Which, just as the occasion serves,
We sacrifice to ane anither.
AE day when Jove, the high director,
Was merry o'er a bowl of nectar,
Resolv'd a present to bestow
On the inhabitants below.
Momus, wha likes his joke and wine,
Was sent frae heaven with the propine.
Fast thro' the æther fields he whirl'd
His rapid car, and reach'd the warld:
Conven'd mankind, and tald them Jove
Had sent a token of his love;
Considering that they were short-sighted,
That faut shou'd presently be righted.
Syne loos'd his wallet frae the pillions,
And toss'd out spectacles by millions.
There were enow, and ilk ane chose
His pair and cock'd them on his nose;
And thankfully their knees they bended
To heaven, that thus their sight had mended.
Straight Momus hameward took his flight,
Laughing fou' loud, as well he might.
For ye maun ken, 'tis but o'er true,
The glasses were some red, some blue,
Some black, some white, some brown, some green,
Which made the same thing different seem.
Now all was wrong, and all was right,
For ilk believ'd his aided sight,
And did the joys of truth partake,
In the absurdest gross mistake.
A LEARNED FOX grown stiff with eild,
Unable now in open field,
By speed of foot and clever stends,
To seize and worry lambs and hens;
But Lowry never wants a shift
To help him out at a dead lift.
He cleath'd himsell in reverend dress,
And turn'd a preacher, naething less!
Held forth wi' birr 'gainst wier unjust,
'Gainst theft and gormandizing lust.
Clear was his voice, his tone was sweet,
In zeal and mien he seem'd complete;
Sae grave and humble was his air,
His character shin'd wide and fair.
"Tis said the Lion had a mind
To hear him; but Mess Fox declin'd
That honour: reasons on his side
Said that might snare him into pride:
But sheep and powtry, geese and ducks,
Came to his meeting-hole in flocks;
Of being his prey they had nae fear,
His text the contrary made clear.
"Curst be that animal voracious,"
Cry'd he, sae cruel and ungracious,
That chuses flesh to be his food,
And takes delight in waughting blood!— What, live by murder !-horrid deed!
While we have trees, and ilka mead,
Finely enrich'd with herbs and fruits,
To serve and please the nicest brutes.
We shou'd respect, dearly belov'd,
Whate'er by breath of life is mov'd.
First, 'tis unjust; and, secondly,
'Tis cruel, and a cruelty
By which we are expos'd (O sad!)
To eat perhaps our lucky dad:
For ken, my friend, the saul ne'er dies,
But frae the failing body flies;
Leaves it to rot and seeks anither;
Thus young Miss Goose may be my
The bloody wowf, seeking his prey,
His father in a sheep may slay;
And I, in worrying lambs or cocks,
Might choak my grandsire Doctor Fox.
Ah! heaven protect me frae sic crimes!
I'd rather die a thousand times."
Thus our bob-tail'd Pythagoras preach'd, And with loud cant his lungs out-stretched. His sermon sounded o'er the dale,
While thus he moraliz'd with zeal.
His glass spun out, he ceast, admir'd
By all who joyfully retir❜d.
But after a' the lave was gane,
Some geese, twa chickens, and a hen,
Thought fit to stay a little space,
To tawk about some kittle case.
The doctor hem'd, and in he drew them,
Then quiet and decently he slew them;
On whom he fed the good auld way.
Those who wan aff, thrice happy they.
BEFORE her hive, a paughty Bee
Observ'd a humble midding flie,
And proudly speer'd, what brought her there,
And with what front she durst repair
Amang the regents of the air.
"It sets you well," the Flie reply'd,
"To quarrel with sic saucy pride!
They're daft indeed has ought to do
With thrawin contentious fowk like you."-
"Why, scoundrel, you!" return'd the Bee,
What nation is sae wise as we?
Best laws and policy is ours,
And our repast the fragrant flow'rs:
No sordid nasty trade we drive,
But with sweet honey fill the hive;
Honey maist gratefu' to the taste,
On which the gods themselves may feast. Out of my sight, vile wretch! whose tongue Is daily slacking through the dung;
Vile spirits, filthily content
To feed on stinking excrement!"
The Flie replied in sober way,
"Faith we maun live as well's we may :
Glad poverty was ne'er a vice,
But sure ill-natur'd passion is.
Your honey's sweet; but then how tart
And bitter's your malicious heart!
In making laws you copy heaven,
But in your conduct how uneven!
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