Sometimes ingloriously applied
To purposes the Muse shall hide.
Or, should they meet no fate below,
How oft tobacco proves their foe!
Or else some cook purloins a leaf
To singe her fowl or save her beef:
But sermons scape both fate and fire
By congregational desire.
Display'd at large upon the table
Was Bunyan's much admired fable;
And as his Pilgrim sprawling lay,
It chanced the Owl advanced that way,
The bird explores the pious dream,
And plays a visionary scheme;
Determined, as he read the sage,
To from the tinker's page.
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The thief now quits his learn'd abode, And scales aloft the sooty road; Flies to Parnassus' top once more, Resolved to dream as well as snore; And what he dream'd by day, the wight, In writing o'er, consumes the night. Plumed with conceit he calls aloud, And thus bespeaks the purblind crowdSay not, that man alone's a poet, Poets are Owls-my verse shall show it.'And while he read his labour'd lays, His blue-eyed brothers hooted praise. But now his female mate by turns With pity and with choler burns; When thus her consort she address'd, And all her various thoughts express'd
Why, prithee, husband, rant no more, 'Tis time to give these follies o'er,
Be wise, and follow
Go-catch your family some mice.
"Twere better to resume your trade,
And spend your nights in ambuscade.
What! if you fatten by your schemes,
And fare luxuriously in dreams!
While you ideal mice are carving,
I and my family are starving.
Reflect upon our nuptial hours,
Where will you find a brood like ours?
Our offspring might become a queen,
For finer owlets ne'er were seen!'
'Ods-blue! (the surly hob replied)
I'll amply for my heirs provide.
Why, Madge! when Colley Cibber dies,
Thou❜lt see thy mate a laureat rise;
For never poets held this place,
Except descendants of our race.'
But soft (the female sage rejoin'd);
Say you abjured the purring kind;
And nobly left inglorious rats
To vulgar owls or sordid cats.
Say, you the healing art essay'd,
And piddled in the doctor's trade;
At least you'd earn us good provisions,
And better this than scribbling visions.
A due regard to me, or self,
Would always make you dream of pelf;
And when you dream'd your nights away,
You'd realize your dreams by day.
Hence, far superior gains would rise,
And I be fat, and you be wise.'
But, Madge, though I applaud your scheme, You'd wish my patients still to dream!
Waking they'd laugh at my vocation,
Or disapprove my education;
And they detest your solemn hob,
Or take me for professor L.'
Equipp'd with powder and with pill,
He takes his licence out-to kill.
Practised in all a doctor's airs,
To Batson's senate he repairs,
Dress'd in his flowing wig of knowledge
To greet his brethren of the college;
Takes up the papers of the day,
Perhaps for want of what to say;
Through every column he pursues
Alike advertisements and news;
O'er lists of cures with rapture runs,
Wrought by Apollo's natural sons;
Admires the rich Hibernian stock
Of doctors Henry, Ward, and Rock.
He dwells on each illustrious name,
And sighs at once for fees and fame.
Now, like the doctors of to-day,
Retains his puffers too in pay.
Around his reputation flew,
His practice with his credit grew.
At length the court receives the sage,
And lordlings in his cause engage.
He dupes, beside plebeian fowls,
The whole nobility of owls.
Thus every where he gains renown,
And fills his purse and thins the town.
WHEN man had disobey'd his Lord,
Vindictive Justice drew the sword;
The rebel and his race shall die,'
He spake, and thunders burst the sky.
Lo! Jesus pardoning grace displays,
Nor thunders roll nor lightnings blaze,
Jesus, the Saviour, stands confess'd,
In rays of mildest glories dress'd.
As round Him press the' angelic crowd,
Mercy and Truth He calls aloud;
The smiling cherubs wing'd to view,
Their pinions sounded as they flew:
Ye favourites of the throne, arise, Bear the strange tidings through the skies; Say, man, the' apostate rebel, lives; Say, Jesus bleeds, and Heaven forgives.
• In pity to the fallen race,
I'll take their nature and their place;
I'll bleed, their pardon to procure,
I'll die, to make that pardon sure.'
Now Jesus leaves his bless'd abode,
A Virgin's womb receives the God.
When the tenth moon had waned on earth,
A Virgin's womb disclosed the birth.
New praise employs the' etherial throng,
Their golden harps repeat the song;
And angels waft the' immortal strains
To humble Bethlehem's happy plains.
While there the guardians of the sheep
By night their faithful vigils keep,
Celestial notes their ears delight,
And floods of glory drown their sight.
When Gabriel thus- Exult, ye swains,
Jesus, your own Messiah, reigns!
Arise, the Royal Babe behold,
Jesus, by ancient bards foretold.
To David's town direct your way,
And shout, Salvation's born to-day!
There, in a manger's mean disguise,
You'll find the sovereign of the skies.'
What joy Salvation's sound imparts,
You best can tell, ye guileless hearts,
Whom no vain science led astray,
Nor taught to scorn Salvation's way.
Though regal purple spurns these truths,
Maintain your ground, ye chosen youths;
Brave the stern tyrant's lifted rod,
Nor blush to own a dying God.
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