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

A flock of Cranes newly come over,
Buried in wheat up to the throat,
Like oxen rioting in clover,
Were taken at their table d'hôte.
Amongst the set
Thus taken up for vagrant game,
A Stork was found in the same net,
Pretending to be sick and lame.
With whining voice, and face of brass,
Just like a rogue with a false pass,
Seiz'd with a fainting fit,
'Tis but a moment since I lit;
For filial duty in all ages
Our house, said he, was ever noted,
By all philosophers and sages,
By poets male and female quoted:
My name is Stork, the Cranes will own
No way related to their clan;
I should as soon digest a stone
As either corn or bran.

Believe not me, trust your own eyes;
Take and examine us by pairs,
Our feathers are of different dyes:
How different mine is from theirs!
Neither your colour nor digestion,
The farmer cried, is now the question;
That you were taken in this place,
And in their company, is plain
But, for the honour of your race,
You shall be punish'd as a Crane.
Just so, one of the sacred bench
Was caught in criminal conversation,
Not with a juicy tempting wench,
That's an excusable temptation.
Caught in the fact, for so the story is,
Of prostitution amongst Tories.
What do you think was his defence?
The metropolitan of ---
Exclaim'd, appeal'd to common sense,
Argu'd exactly like a Stork:

Examine their's and my pen-feather;
Birds of so different a plume,
You will confess, I do presume,
Can never copulate together.
But, in Crim. Con. having been taken,
This could not save his holy bacon.