 | Beasts at law, or zoologian jurisprudence |  |
“Mortals, avaunt!” ye biped race,
Who boast an image, form, and face,
Of stamp divine! no more for you
I waste my breath and labor too;
No more I sing to souls who scorn
The warblings of my vocal horn,
But wake for those the tuneful lay
Who heard when Orpheus deign'd to play;
Who, charm'd, forgot their native choler,
And danced a hornpipe round Apollo.
Yes, 'tis for you, untutored tribes,
Whose plaudits are not won by bribes;
If is for you, ye quadrup'd throng,
That I invoke the muse of song;
That Fancy now extends her wings
And wantons o'er the silver strings.
Who boast an image, form, and face,
Of stamp divine! no more for you
I waste my breath and labor too;
No more I sing to souls who scorn
The warblings of my vocal horn,
But wake for those the tuneful lay
Who heard when Orpheus deign'd to play;
Who, charm'd, forgot their native choler,
And danced a hornpipe round Apollo.
Yes, 'tis for you, untutored tribes,
Whose plaudits are not won by bribes;
If is for you, ye quadrup'd throng,
That I invoke the muse of song;
That Fancy now extends her wings
And wantons o'er the silver strings.
| Beasts at law, or zoologian jurisprudence | |