Scripscrapologia or, Collins's Doggerel Dish Of All Sorts. Consisting of Songs Adapted to familiar Tunes, And which may be sung without the Chaunterpipe of an Italian Warbler, or the ravishing Accompaniments of Tweedle-Dum or Tweedle-Dee. Particularly those which have been most applauded in the author's once popular performance, call'd, The Brush. The Gallimaufry garnished with a variety of comic tales, quaint epigrams, whimsical epitaphs, &c. &c. [by John Collins] |
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THE FOX AND HIS GUEST |
 | Scripscrapologia |  |
THE FOX AND HIS GUEST
Through Æsop, Phœdrus, Gay, Lestrange,
O'er the wide field of Fable range,
And through each parabolic tract,
Pursue the trail of moral fact;
If grounded in Zoologic lore,
Deep as Deucalion was of yore,
Who sack'd old Ocean, Earth, and Air,
His Ark to stock with every pair,
You'll own 'tis Nature's orthodox,
That “Craft unrivall'd marks the Fox.”
O'er the wide field of Fable range,
And through each parabolic tract,
Pursue the trail of moral fact;
97
Deep as Deucalion was of yore,
Who sack'd old Ocean, Earth, and Air,
His Ark to stock with every pair,
You'll own 'tis Nature's orthodox,
That “Craft unrivall'd marks the Fox.”
Finesse the game, Chicane the sport,
Of Fox in country, Fox at court;
His cover here, or there his kennel,
Plunder and prey delight the Scrannel;
And e'en when time his Brush besilvers,
The old grey Hirco prowls and pilfers;
No Spoil he spares to gorge his maw,
Justice a jest, a jest the Law!
Compunction and remorse are nonsense,
No Fox will starve for sake of Conscience!
These strictures past—the theme we spare,
On Foxes here, or Foxes there,
And turn a homspun Tale to tell,
Of one old Fox remember'd well,
Who many a wily trick had play'd,
And many a baited snare had laid,
In tempting Trap and 'ticing Gin,
To take th'unwary Stranger in.
In short, old Reynard kept a Larder,
Of neighbours' wants a kind regarder,
Welcome to all who well could pay,
And open both by night and day;
Where well-truss'd Fowl allur'd the eye,
Keen hunger's cravings to supply;
With well-pluck'd Pigeons, Ducks, and Geese,
In short, his Den was dubb'd “The Fleece!”
A name with whim and truth to boot in't,
As all were fleec'd that e'er put foot in't.
Now so it hap'd—A Straggler one day,
Whether a Working-day, or Sunday,
It matters not—The dainty Guest
The peery Landlord thus addrest:
“My palate leans to something nice,
“Get me a Woodcock in a trice.”
“Yes, Sir—Here, Skipdish, lay the cloth,
“Sir, would you choose some soup or broth?”
“Not I, I never sluice my chops,
“With broths or soups, or such like slops,
“But get the Cock with all dispatch.”—
“Sir, you shall have it in a snatch.”
Of Fox in country, Fox at court;
His cover here, or there his kennel,
Plunder and prey delight the Scrannel;
And e'en when time his Brush besilvers,
The old grey Hirco prowls and pilfers;
No Spoil he spares to gorge his maw,
Justice a jest, a jest the Law!
Compunction and remorse are nonsense,
No Fox will starve for sake of Conscience!
These strictures past—the theme we spare,
On Foxes here, or Foxes there,
And turn a homspun Tale to tell,
Of one old Fox remember'd well,
Who many a wily trick had play'd,
And many a baited snare had laid,
In tempting Trap and 'ticing Gin,
To take th'unwary Stranger in.
In short, old Reynard kept a Larder,
Of neighbours' wants a kind regarder,
Welcome to all who well could pay,
And open both by night and day;
Where well-truss'd Fowl allur'd the eye,
Keen hunger's cravings to supply;
With well-pluck'd Pigeons, Ducks, and Geese,
In short, his Den was dubb'd “The Fleece!”
A name with whim and truth to boot in't,
As all were fleec'd that e'er put foot in't.
98
Whether a Working-day, or Sunday,
It matters not—The dainty Guest
The peery Landlord thus addrest:
“My palate leans to something nice,
“Get me a Woodcock in a trice.”
“Yes, Sir—Here, Skipdish, lay the cloth,
“Sir, would you choose some soup or broth?”
“Not I, I never sluice my chops,
“With broths or soups, or such like slops,
“But get the Cock with all dispatch.”—
“Sir, you shall have it in a snatch.”
The Bird soon brought, the Stranger ey'd it,
And then exclaim'd, Old Nick betide it;
“What have we here? By Heav'ns, a Grouse!
“Why, Sir, I would not give a louse
“For twenty such, and for this reason,
“BLACK GAME is now quite out of Season.”
Quoth Reynard, “'tis a Cock believe me.”
“A Cock! A Grouse, you can't deceive me;—
“A little short-beak'd heath-bred Oozle,
“A Cock indeed,—a flat Bamboozle!
“To see the diff'rence needs no skill,—
“If'tis a Cock, pray where's his Bill?
“His fine long Bill?—Here's no such thing!
“So, Master Fox, 'tis all a fling!”
“Sir,” replies Reynard, “take my word,
“If you'll sit down, and eat the Bird,
“I'll find the Bill before you pike it,
“And perhaps longer than you'll like it.”
And then exclaim'd, Old Nick betide it;
“What have we here? By Heav'ns, a Grouse!
“Why, Sir, I would not give a louse
“For twenty such, and for this reason,
“BLACK GAME is now quite out of Season.”
Quoth Reynard, “'tis a Cock believe me.”
“A Cock! A Grouse, you can't deceive me;—
“A little short-beak'd heath-bred Oozle,
“A Cock indeed,—a flat Bamboozle!
“To see the diff'rence needs no skill,—
“If'tis a Cock, pray where's his Bill?
“His fine long Bill?—Here's no such thing!
“So, Master Fox, 'tis all a fling!”
“Sir,” replies Reynard, “take my word,
“If you'll sit down, and eat the Bird,
“I'll find the Bill before you pike it,
“And perhaps longer than you'll like it.”
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