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And, like a gentleman caress'd,
Had been the lady's favourite guest.

The wily fox remain'd,

A subtle, pilfering foe, prowling around
In midnight shades, and wakeful to destroy.

GAY's Fables.


Of all the brutes by nature form'd,

The artful beaver best can bear the want
Of vital air; yet, 'neath the whelming tide,
He lives not long; but respiration needs
At proper intervals.


Let cavillers deny

That brutes have reason; sure 't is something more,
"Tis heaven directs, and stratagems inspire
Beyond the short extent of human thought.


The snappish cur

Close at my heel with yelping treble flies.


The hare, timorous of heart, and hard beset

By death in various forms, dark snares, and dogs,

And more unpitying man.

THOMSON'S Seasons.

And, scorning all the taming arts of man,

The keen hyena, fellest of the fell.

THOMSON'S Seasons.

The lively, shining leopard, speckled o'er

With many a spot, the beauty of the waste.

THOMSON'S Seasons.

He stands at bay,

And puts his last faint refuge in despair;

The big round tears run down his dappled face;

He groans in anguish.

THOMSON'S Seasons.



The tiger darting fierce,

Impetuous on the prey his eye hath doom'd.


The watch-dog's voice, that bay'd the whispering wind.

Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,

And curs of low degree.



'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark
Bay deep-mouth'd welcome, as we draw near home.

BYRON'S Don Juan

They revel, rest, then fearless, hopeless, die.


The brindled catamount, that lies

High in the boughs to catch his prey.



They say he sits

All day in contemplation of a statue

With ne'er a nose; and dotes on the decays,

With greater love than the self-loved Narcissus

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He shows, on holidays, a sacred pin,

That touch'd the ruff that touch'd Queen Bess's chin.

YOUNG's Love of Fame.

Rare are the buttons of a Roman's breeches,

In antiquarian eyes surpassing riches:

Rare is each crack'd, black, rotten, earthen dish,

That held of ancient Rome the flesh and fish.

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Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin new-reaped,
Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest home.


Drew from the deep Charybdis of his coat

What seem'd a handkerchief, and forthwith blew
His vocal nose.


Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,

But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy;

For the apparel oft proclaims the man.


The fashion

Doth wear out more apparel than the man.

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It is the mind that makes the body rich;
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,
So honour peereth in the meanest habit.
What is the jay more precious than the lark,

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Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire,
Beyond the pomp of dress; for loveliness
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
But is, when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most.

THOMSON'S Seasons.

Let firm, well-hammer'd soles protect thy feet,
Through freezing snows, and rain, and soaking sleet;—
Should the big last extend the sole too wide,
Each stone will wrench th' unwary step aside;
The sudden turn may stretch the swelling vein,
Thy cracking joints unhinge, or ankle sprain;
And when too small the modest shoes are worn,
You'll judge the seasons by your shooting corn.

GAY's Trivia.

Nor should it prove thy less important care,
To choose a proper coat for winter wear;
Be thine of kersey firm, tho' small the cost;
Then brave, unwet, the rain-unchill'd, the frost.

GAY's Trivia.

Let beaux their canes with amber tipt produce;
Be theirs for empty show, but thine for use.
Imprudent men Heaven's choicest gifts profane;
Thus some beneath their arm support the cane,
The dirty point oft checks the careless pace,
And muddy spots the clean cravat disgrace.
Oh may I never such misfortune meet!
May no such vicious persons walk the street!

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GAY'S Trivia.

In diamonds, curls, and rich brocades
She shines the first of batter'd jades,
And flutters in her pride.


Say, will the falcon stooping from above,

Smit with her varying plumage, spare the dove?

Admires the jay the insect's varying wings?

Or, hears the hawk when Philomela sings?


Be not the first by whom the new is tried,
Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.


And even while Fashion's brightest arts decoy,
The heart, distrusting, asks if this be joy?

GOLDSMITH'S Deserted Village. Beppo! that beard of thine becomes thee not; It should be shaved before you're a day older!

He had that grace, so rare in every clime,
Of being, without alloy of fop or beau,
A finish'd gentleman, from top to toe.

BYRON'S Beppo.

BYRON'S Don Juan.

But, next to dressing for a rout or ball,

Undressing is a woe.

BYRON'S Don Juan.


Trust not the treason of those smiling looks,
Until you have their guileful trains well tried,

For they are like but unto golden hooks,

That from the foolish fish their baits do hide.

SPENSER'S Sonnets.

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