_The Bat and the two Weasels._ A Purblind Bat a heedless Beast Ran headlong into a Weasel's Nest, Who big with Child, and Passionate, Had long since bore a mortal hate To Mice; she rises, takes a Knife, Runs to 'm resolv'd to have his Life, And says: What Rascal in my House! O impudence! a'nt you a Mouse? Confess: Yes, I am sure you are, Or I'm no Weasel: Have a Care, No Names, good Lady, says the Bat, No more a Mouse, than you a Rat. What, I a Mouse? I scorn the Word; And thank the Gods that made m' a Bird; Witness my Wings, they're proof enough; Long live the Birds, and so came off. Some two Days after giddy brain By a mischance, intrudes again T' another Weasel's, who hates Birds, She lets him enter, made no Words; But fairly caught him by his Crupper, And went to cranch him for her Supper. In quality of Bird, says he, Madam, this is an Injury, Damn all the Birds, I do Protest You wrong me: Sure y'are but in jest, What reason I should pass for one? All Birds have Feathers, I have none. I am a Mouse long live the Rats, And _Jupiter_ confound the Cats. The Moral. _The Trimmer that will side with none, Is forc'd to side with ev'ry one; And with his Comp'ny change his story, Long live the Whig, long live the Tory._ _The two Bitches._ A Bitch, who hardly had a day To reckon, knew not where to lay Her Burthen down: She had no Bed; Nor any Roof to hide her Head; Desires a Bitch of the same Pack, To let her have, for Heaven's sake, Her House against her Lying-in. Th' other, who thought it was a Sin, To baulk a Wretch so near her Labour, Says, Yes, 'tis at your Service, Neighbour. She stays the Month out, and above, And then desires her to remove: But th' other tells her, there's yet none Of all my Whelps can walk alone, Have patience but one Fortnight longer. I hope by that time they'll be stronger. She grants it, and when that's about, Again she asks her to turn out; Resign her Chamber, and her Bed: The other shew'd her Teeth, and said, My Children now are strong enough, Some of 'em able to stand buff. W' are free to go, but don't mistake us, That is to say, if you can make us. The Moral. _Whoever lets the Wicked in Shall hardly get them out again; What they can keep, they'll ne'er restore, And by fair Means you'll have no more Returns from them, than from the Grave, Therefore he that will lend a Knave, Must be resolv'd on Law and Force; If not, he'll bid you take your Course._ _The Sick Lyon and the Fox._