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ON A SPANIEL, CALLED BEAU,
KILLING A YOUNG BIRD.
[July 15, 1793.]
A SPANIEL, Beau, that fares like you,
Well fed, and at his ease, Should wiser be than to pursue
Each trifle that he sees.
But you have kill'd a tiny bird,
Which flew not till to-day,
Forbidding you the prey.
And ease a doggish pain,
You left where he was slain.
Nor was he of the thievish sort,
Or one whom blood allures,
ON A SPANIEL, CALLED BEAU. My dog! what remedy remains,
Since, teach you all I can, I see you, after all my pains,
So much resemble Man?
In spite of your command,
And harder to withstand.
You cried-forbear-but in my breast
A mightier cried-proceed'Twas Nature, Sir, whose strong behest
Impell’d me to the deed. Yet much as nature I respect,
I ventur'd once to break, (As you, perhaps, may recollect)
Her precept for your sake;
Passing his prison door,
And panting press'd the floor,
Not destin'd to my tooth,
ON A SPANIEL, CALLED BEAU.
Let my obedience then excuse
My disobedience now,
From your aggriev'd Bow-wow;
If killing birds be such a crime,
(Which I can hardly see,) What think you, Sir, of killing Time
With verse address'd to me?
FROM A LETTER TO THE REV. MR.
[Dated May 28, 1782.]
Says the pipe to the snuff-box, I can't under
stand, What the ladies and gentlemen see in your
face, That you are in fashion all over the land,
And I am so much fallen into disgrace. Do but see what a pretty contemplative air
I give to the company--pray do but note 'emYou would think that the wise men of Greece
were all there, Or, at least would suppose them the wise men
of Gotham. My breath is as sweet as the breath of blown
roses, While you are a nuisance where'er you appear ;
228 FROM A LETTER TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON. There is nothing but sniv'ling and blowing of
noses, Such a noise as turns any man's stomach to
Then lifting his lid in a delicate way,
What a silly dispute is this we are waging! If you have a little of merit to claim, You may think the sweet-smelling Virginian
weed, And I, if I seem to deserve any blame,
The before-mentioned drug in apology plead.
Thus neither the praise nor the blame is our
own, No room for a sneer, much less a cachinnus, We are vehicles, not of tobacco alone,
But of any thing else they may choose to put