Poems, chiefly pastoral By John Cunningham. The second edition. With the Addition of several pastorals and other pieces |
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 | Poems, chiefly pastoral |  |
The Fox and the Cat, as they travell'd one day,
With moral discourses cut shorter the way:
‘'Tis great (says the Fox) to make justice our guide!’
‘How godlike is mercy!’ Grimalkin reply'd.
With moral discourses cut shorter the way:
‘'Tis great (says the Fox) to make justice our guide!’
‘How godlike is mercy!’ Grimalkin reply'd.
Whilst thus they proceeded,—a Wolf from the wood,
Impatient of hunger, and thirsting for blood,
Rush'd forth—as he saw the dull shepherd asleep,
And seiz'd for his supper an innocent Sheep.
‘In vain, wretched victim, for mercy you bleat,
‘When mutton's at hand, (says the Wolf) I must eat.’
Grimalkin's astonish'd,—the Fox stood aghast,
To see the fell beast at his bloody repast.
‘What a wretch, (says the Cat)—'tis the vilest of brutes:
‘Does he feed upon flesh, when there's herbage,—and roots?’
Cries the Fox—‘While our oaks give us acorns so good,
‘What a tyrant is this, to spill innocent blood?’
Impatient of hunger, and thirsting for blood,
Rush'd forth—as he saw the dull shepherd asleep,
And seiz'd for his supper an innocent Sheep.
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‘When mutton's at hand, (says the Wolf) I must eat.’
Grimalkin's astonish'd,—the Fox stood aghast,
To see the fell beast at his bloody repast.
‘What a wretch, (says the Cat)—'tis the vilest of brutes:
‘Does he feed upon flesh, when there's herbage,—and roots?’
Cries the Fox—‘While our oaks give us acorns so good,
‘What a tyrant is this, to spill innocent blood?’
Well, onward they march'd, and they moraliz'd still,
'Till they came where some poultry pick'd chaff by a mill;
Sly Reynard survey'd them with gluttonous eyes,
And made (spite of morals) a pullet his prize.
'Till they came where some poultry pick'd chaff by a mill;
Sly Reynard survey'd them with gluttonous eyes,
And made (spite of morals) a pullet his prize.
A Mouse too, that chanc'd from her covert to stray,
The greedy Grimalkin secur'd as her prey.
The greedy Grimalkin secur'd as her prey.
A Spider that sat in her web on the wall,
Perceiv'd the poor victims, and pity'd their fall;
She cry'd—‘Of such murders how guiltless am I!’
So ran to regale on a new taken fly.
Perceiv'd the poor victims, and pity'd their fall;
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So ran to regale on a new taken fly.
| Poems, chiefly pastoral | |