It is a thing without contest, That he that's strongest reasons best. The Weather being sultry hot, A Lamb to cool himself, was got A paddling in a purling Stream. (To Rhiming Fools a mighty Theme) When a she Wolf (the De'l sure sent her) Came down, in quest of some Adventure, And hardly spy'd poor Innocence; But pick'd a Quarrel void of Sence; Began to sputter, Damn and Sink, Ask'd how he dar'd to spoil her Drink, A nasty poysoning Dog. Odsbud! He'd make it all as thick as mud. For which he'd punish him by _Jove_. Madam, reply'd the Lamb, I love To reason calmly, and will show ye, That I am Twenty Yards below ye. And humbly craving leave, from thence I draw this reg'lar Consequence; That I can't, standing in this Place, Disturb the Liquor of your Grace. You do, says the other, and last Year You told some lies of me. I swear, I was not born then, quoth the Lamb: I han't left sucking of my Dam. 'Twas either you or else your Brother. I've ne'er a one. Then 'twas your Mother, Or any other near Relation; For all your wicked Generation Hates me; your Dogs and Shepherds too And without any more a do, The Lamb was carry'd to the Wood And serv'd the cruel Wolf for Food. _The Lyon grown old._ A Valiant Lyon, now grown old, His Limbs and Jaws benumb'd and cold, Lay thinking on his Royal Bed, With scarce a Tooth in all his Head: And Claws worn to the Stumps with Tearing: (But every thing's the worse for wearing) And whilst he labour'd to repent, Complaining of his Youth mispent, His Rebel Subjects paid no more, That Honour, which they gave before, But treat him with Contempt and Scorn: The Bull does push him with his Horn, The Horse affronts him with his Heels: No Tongue can tell what grief he feels From these insulting Enemies. In comes the Ass; but when he sees, That Coward too forget his Duty, He dying said, _Tu quoque Brute?_ _The two Physicians._ Two graduate Physicians, Of many Years Experience, With Coaches to proclaim their Skill, Are sent for to a Man that's ill. One feels his Pulse and gives him over: But th' other says he may recover; I have great hopes, we'll give him some Of my _Antithanaticum_. No, cries the first, he is too weak; Yes truly Sir, I'm very sick, Replies the Patient; down they sate, And enter'd in a deep Debate: One quotes four Words of _Arabick_, Th' other an Aphorism in _Greek_. They're very hot, and every one Sticks to his own Opinion. The Upshot was, they writ a Bill, Which neither lik'd of very well: They visit him some Days, and vent Many a learned Argument; But as his Life went on full Speed, He could not stay till they agreed, And so march'd off; and when he's dead, Both still are in the right; one said, I told you so, his very Eye Prognosticated he would dye: And th' other cry'd, had I been believ'd, I'm very sure, he would have liv'd.