" 'Tis green, 'tis green, Sir, I affure ye— "Green! cries the other in a fury"Why, Sir-d'ye think I've loft my eyes ?" " "Twere no great lofs, the friend replies. "For if they always ferve you thus, "You'll find 'em but of little ufe." So high at last the contest rose, From words they almost came to blows: When luckily came by a third; To him the question they referr'd; And begg'd he'd tell 'em, if he knew, Whether the thing was green or blue. "Sirs, cries the umpire, cease your pother"The creature's neither one nor t'other. "I caught the animal last night, "And view'd it o'er by candle-light: "I mark'd it well-'twas black as jet"You ftare-but Sirs, I've got it yet, "And can produce it."—" Pray, Sir, do: "I'll lay my life the thing is blue.” "And I'll be sworn that when you've seen "The reptile, you'll pronounce him green." "Well then, at once to ease the doubt, "Replies the man, I'll turn him out: "And when before your eyes I've set him, "If you don't find him black, I'll eat him.” He faid; then full before their fight Produc'd the beast, and lo!-'twas white. Both ftar'd, the man look'd wond'rous wife"Mỳ children," the Camelion cries, (Then first the creature found a tongue) "You all are right, and all are wrong:

" When

"When next you talk of what you view, "Think others fee, as well as you:

"Nor wonder, if you find that none

"Prefers your eye-fight to his own."

MERRICK.

CHA P. XIII.

THE YOUTH AND THE PHILOSOPHER.

A

GRECIAN Youth, of talents rare,
Whom Plato's philofophic care

Had form'd for Virtue's nobler view,

By precepts and example too,

Would often boaft his matchlefs skill,
To curb the fteed, and guide the wheel.
And as he pass'd the gazing throng,
With graceful ease, and smack'd the thong,
The idiot wonder they exprefs'd

Was praise and tranfport to his breast.

At length quite vain, he needs would fhew

His mafter what his art could do;

And bade his flaves the chariot lead

To Academus' facred fhade.

The trembling grove confefs'd its fright,
The wood-nymphs started at the fight;
The Mufes drop the learned lyre,
And to their inmoft fhades retire.

Howe'er, the youth with forward air,
Bows to the fage, and mounts the car;
The lash resounds, the courfers fpring,
The chariot marks the rolling ring;

And

And gath'ring crowds with eager eyes,
And fhouts, purfue him as he flies.

Triumphant to the gaol return'd,
With nobler thirst his bofom burn'd;
And now along th' indented plain,
The felf-fame track he marks again,
Purfues with care the nice defign,
Nor ever deviates from the line.
Amazement feiz'd the circling crowd;
The youths with emulation glow'd;
Ev'n bearded fages hail'd the boy,
And all, but Plato, gaz'd with joy.
For he, deep-judging fage, beheld
With pain the triumphs of the field:
And when the charioteer drew nigh,
And, flufh'd with hope, had caught his eye,

Alas! unhappy youth, he cry'd,

Expect no praise from me, (and figh'd)

With indignation I furvey

Such skill and judgment thrown away.
The time profufely fquander'd there,
On vulgar arts beneath thy care,
If well employ'd, at lefs expence,
Had taught thee honour, virtue, fenfe,
And rais'd thee from a coachman's fate,
To govern men and guide the state.

WHITEHEAD.

CHAP.

W

CHA P. XIV.

SIR BALA A M.

HERE London's column, pointing at the skies

Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies;

There dwelt a Citizen of sober fame,

A plain good man, and Balaam was his name;
Religious, punctual, frugal, and fo forth;

His word would pass for more than he was worth.

One folid dish his week-day meal affords,

An added pudding folemniz'd the Lord's:

Conftant at Church, and 'Change; his gains were fure, His givings rare, fave farthings to the poor.

The Devil was piqu'd fuch faintfhip to behold, And long'd to tempt him, like good Job of old: But Satan now is wifer than of yore,

And tempts by making rich, not making poor.

Rous'd by the Prince of Air, the whirlwinds fweep
The furge, and plunge his Father in the deep;
Then full against his Cornish lands they roar,
And two rich fhipwrecks bless the lucky fhore.

Sir Balaam now, he lives like other folks,
He takes his chirping pint, and cracks his jokes:
"Live like yourself," was foon my Lady's word;
And lo! two puddings fmoak'd upon the board.
Afleep and naked as an Indian lay,

An honeft factor ftole a Gem away:

He pledg'd it to the knight; the knight had wit,
So kept the Di'mond, and the rogue was bit.
Some fcruple rofe, but thus he eas'd his thought,
"I'll now give fix-pence where I gave a groat;

"Where

"Where once I went to church, I'll now go twice-
"And am fo clear too of all other vice."

The Tempter faw his time; the work he ply'd ;
Stocks and Subfcriptions pour on ev'ry fide,
'Till all the Dæmon makes his full defcent
In one abundant fhow'r of Cent. per Cent.
Sinks deep within him, and poffefs the whole,
Then dubs Director, and fecures his foul.

Behold Sir Balaam now a man of spirit,
Afcribés his gettings to his parts and merit ;
What late he call'd a Bleffing, now was Wit,
And God's good Providence, a lucky Hit.
Things change their titles, as our manners turn:
His Compting-house employ'd the Sunday morn :
Seldom at Church ('twas such a busy life)
But duly fent his family and wife.

There (fo the Devil ordain'd) one Christmas-tide
My good old Lady catch'd a cold and dy’d.

A Nymph of Quality admires our Knight,
He marries, bows at Court, and grows polite :
Leaves the dull Cits, and joins (to please the Fair)
The well-bred cuckolds in St. James's air:
In Britain's Senate he a feat obtains,
And one more Penfioner St. Stephen gains.
My Lady falls to play; fo bad her chance,
He must repair it; takes a bribe from France;
The House impeach him; Coningsby harangues;
The Court forfake him, and Sir Balaam hangs.
Wife, fon, and daughter, Satan! are thy own,
His wealth, yet dearer, forfeit to the Crown:
The Devil and the King divide the prize,
And fad Sir Balaam curfes God and dies.