The Works of John Hall-Stevenson :: :: University of Virginia Library

A certain dog of middling birth,
Frolicksome and full of play:
Even in the height of all his mirth,
Delicate as well as gay:
With far more feeling for his friend,
Than they could either taste or comprehend.—
Being thrown into the world betimes,
Betimes discover'd it was all a cheat,
Yet not so dangerous for odious crimes,
As odious for malice and deceit,
Oft when he meant to have amus'd
His friends with a conceit, or harmless jest,
By many he was snarl'd at and abus'd,
And slighted even by the best.
Oft, when half-starv'd, he found a bone,
Or something hid,
Instead of eating it alone,
As others did,
He ran to share his daily bread,
Unsought

With those that were much better fed
Than taught,
His daily bread they seiz'd,
And drove him from their mess,
More disappointed and displeas'd
With their ingratitude than his distress
It is a maxim amongst dogs,—
When they have the address and skill,—
To slip their collars and their clogs,
And leave their friends that use them ill.
To avoid anxiety and strife,
Tray was resolv'd to try a country life.
A country dog, I think,
Is exactly like a country squire,
They both are only fit to sleep and stink
By their own fire;
And when awake are only good
To yelp and hollow in a wood.
Their joys,
And conversation are the same,
'Tis all a clamour and a noise,
And all the noise and clamour about game.

Three words compose their whole vocabulary,
A fox, a hare, and a fine scenting day;
Whether they are serious or merry,
'Tis all they have to say:
In short, they never are so entertaining,
As when they're fast asleep or feigning.
To quit such friends as these,
One would not grieve:
Tray parted from them with great ease,
Without so much as taking leave,
Consults his grandsire, by profession,
A spaniel;
For judgement and discretion,
A perfect Daniel.
Benign and mild,
He heard his grandson's grievances, and smil'd.
Grandson, said he, I do conceive,
If you had known the world, and how things go,
But half as much as you believe,
Or twice as much as I believe you know,
You would not have complain'd,

That dogs behave to one another
When they are unchain'd,
Like every creature to his brother.
Say, dupe of a rash confidence and trust,
If you lie open and unguarded,
Is it not just,
That vigilance should be rewarded?
'Twas neither nature's call,
Nor my instruction,
To trust your friends at all;
Much less, to trust them to your own destruction.
A painful and severe attention
Is but a necessary fence,
To every dog of sense,
Against deceit and circumvention,
A task from which you hop'd to be reliev'd
By trusting to your friends:
You are deceiv'd,
Acting as much as they for your own ends.
All the world knows,
That friendship's a mere sound;
A sound that hardly can impose

Upon a puppy hound.
Nature is not to blame,
Flatter'd by cunning, indolence invented
That foolish name,
By which so many fools are circumvented.
Happiness you'll seldom find,
Unless you learn
To have no weighty interest or concern
With those of your own kind;
Unless you learn (if it is not too late)
That they are neither worth your love nor hate.