So monftrous-like the portrait's found, So, fir, I beg you, fpare your pains In making comments on my ftrains. I judge not of my neighbour's breast: 35 40 Is 't I apply, or self-conviction? 50 Brutes are my theme. Am I to blame, If men in morals the fame? I no man call or ape or ass; 'Tis his own conscience holds the glass. 55 A fhepherd's Dog, unfkill'd in sports, Says Renard, 'tis a cruel cafe, 69 No doubt, among us rogues you find, By talk like this, from all mistrust Blefs us! the hunters are abroad: What's all that clatter on the road! 65 70 75 80 Hold, fays the Dog, we're free from harm : "Twas nothing but a false alarm. At yonder town 'tis market-day; Some farmer's wife is on the way: 'Tis fo, (I know her pyebald mare) Dame Dobbins with her poultry-ware. Renard grew huff. Says he, This fneer I little thought to hear; From you Your meaning in your looks I fee. 85 Pray, what's Dame Dobbins, friend, to me? Did I e'er make her poultry thinner? 95 Friend, quoth the Cur, I meant no harm; Then why fo captious? why fo warm? My words, in common acceptation, Could never give this provocation. No lamb (for ought I ever knew) May be more innocent than you." At this, gall'd Renard winc'd, and swore Such language ne'er was giv'n before. 100 What's lamb to me? This faucy hint Shows me, bafe knave, which way you squint. If t' other night your mafter loft Three lambs, am I to pay the cost? Your vile reflections would imply That I'm the thief. You dog, you lye. 105 Thou knave, thou fool, (the Dog reply'd) The name is juft, take either fide; Thy guilt these applications speak: Sirrah, 'tis confcience makes you squeak. 110 So faying, on the Fox he flies: The self-convicted felon dies. 5 WHY, Grubbinol, doft thou fo wistful feem? 10 *Dirge, or Dyrge, a mournful ditty, or fong of lamen. tation, over the dead; not a contraction of the Latin Dirige in the Popish hymn, Dirige gressus meos, as fome pretend. But from the Teutonick Dyrke, laudare, to praise and extol. Whence it is poffible their Dyrke, and our Dirge, was a laudatory fong to commemorate and applaud the dead.Cowell's Interpreter. GRUBBINOL. Ah, Bumkinet! fince thou from hence wert gone, From these fad plains all merriment is flown; Should I reveal my grief 'twould fpoil thy chear, And make thine eye o'erflow with many a tear. BUMKINET. Hang forrow! Let's to yonder hutt repair, 15 And with trim fonnets caft away our care. Gillian of Croydon well thy pipe can play ; Thou fing'st most sweet, O'er hills and far away.. Of Patient Griffel I devife to fing, And catches quaint fhall make the vallies ring. 20 Come, Grubbinol, beneath this fhelter, come; From hence we view our flocks fecurely roam. GRUBBINOL. Yes, blithefome lad, a tale I mean to fing, But with my woe shall distant valleys ring. The tale fhall make our kidlings drcop their head, For woe is me!-our Blouzelind is dead. 26 BUMKINET. Is Blouzelinda dead? farewell my glee! No happiness is now referv'd for me. Line 15. Incipe, Mopfe, prior fi quos aut Phyllidis ignes Aut Alconis babes laudes, aut jurgia Codri. 27. Glee, joy; from the Dutch, gleoren, to recreate. |