That inftinct is a furer guide,
Than reafon-boafting mortals pride;
And that brute beafts are far before 'em,
Deus eft anima brutorum.
Whoever knew an honest brute,
At law his neighbour profecute,
Bring action for affault and battery,
Or friend beguile with lies and flattery.
O'er plains they ramble unconfin'd,
No politics difturb their mind;
They eat their meals, and take their sport,
Nor know who's in or out at court, ·
They never to the levee go
To treat as dearest friend, a foe:
They never importune his grace,
Nor ever cringe to men in place;
Nor undertake a dirty job,
Nor draw the quill to write for Bob,
Fraught with invective they ne'er go,
To folks at Pater-nofter Row:
No judges, fidlers, dancing mafters,
No pick-pockets, or poetafters,
Are known to honeft quadrupeeds,
No fingle brute his fellows leads.
Brutes never meet in bloody fray,
Nor cut each others throats for pay.
Of beafts, it is confefs'd, the ape
Comes nearest us in human shape,
Like man he imitates each fashion,
And malice is his ruling paffion :
But both in malice and grimaces,
A courtier any ape furpaffes.
Behold him humbly cringing wait,
Upon the minifter of state:
View him foon after to inferiors
Aping the conduct of fuperiors:
He promises with equal air,
And to perform takes equal care.
He in his turn finds imitators,
At court, the porters, lacques, waiters,
Their master's manners ftill contract,
And footmen, lords and dukes can act.
Thus at the court, both great and small,
Behave alike, for all ape
AMIDST the clamour of exulting joys,
Which triumph forces from the patriot heart;
Grief dares to mingle her foul-piercing voice,
And quells the raptures which from pleasures ftart.
O, Wolfe, to thee a ftreaming flood of woe,
Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear;
Quebec in vain shall teach our breast to glow,
Whilft thy fad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear.
Alive the foe thy dreadful vigour fled,
And faw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes: Yet they fhall know thou conquereft, though dead! Since from thy tomb a thoufand heroes rife.
ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH STRUCK BLIND
IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH.
SURE 'twas by Providence design'd,
Rather in pity, than in hate,
That he fhou'd be, like cupid, blind,
To fave him from Narciffus' fate.
WEEPING, murmuring, complaining,
Loft to every gay delight;
Myra, too fincere for feigning,
Fears th' approaching bridal night.
Yet why impair thy bright perfection?
Or dim thy beauty with a tear?
Had Myra follow'd my direction,
She long had wanted caufe of fear.
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