The KITE rose up. His honest heart In VIRTUE'S suff'rings bore a part. That there were birds of prey he knew; So far the libeller said true, "Voracious, bold, to rapine prone, Who knew no int'rest but their own; Who, hov'ring o'er the farmer's yard, Nor pigeon, chick, nor duckling spar'd." This might be true--but if apply'd To him, in troth, the sland'rer ly'd. Since IGN'RANCE then might be misled, Such things, he thought, were best unsaid. The CROW was vext. As yester-morn He flew across the new-sown corn, A screaming boy was set for pay, He knew, to drive the CROWS away: SCANDAL had found him out in turn, And buzz'd abroad--that CROWS love corn. The OWL arose, with solemn face, And thus harangu'd upon the case: 'That MAGPIES prate, it may be true; A KITE may be voracious too; CROWS sometimes deal in new-sown pease; He libels not, who strikes at these; The slander's here--"But there are birds, Whose wisdom lies in looks, not words; Blund'rers who level in the dark, And always shoot beside the mark." He names not me; but these are hints Which manifest at whom he squints; I were indeed that blund'ring fowl, To question if he meant an OWL.' "Ye wretches, hence!" the EAGLE cries, "'Tis conscience, conscience that applies; The virtuous mind takes no alarm, Secur'd by innocence from harm; While GUILT, and his associate, FEAR, Are startled at the passing air." FABLE II. THE PANTHER, HORSE, AND OTHER BEASTS. The man who seeks to win the fair, (So custom says) must truth forbear; Must fawn and flatter, cringe and lie, And raise the goddess to the sky; For truth is hateful to her ear, A rudeness which she cannot bear-- A rudeness?--Yes,--I speak my thoughts, For truth upbraids her with her faults. How wretched, CHLOE, then am I, Who love you, and yet cannot lie; And still, to make you less my friend, I strive your errors to amend! But shall the senseless fop impart The softest passion to your heart, While he who tells you honest truth, And points to happiness your youth, Determines, by his cares, his lot, And lives neglected and forgot? Trust me, my dear, with greater ease, Your taste for flatt'ry I could please. And similes in each dull line, Like glow-worms in the dark, should shine. What if I say your lips disclose The freshness of the op'ning rose? Or that your cheeks are beds of flow'rs, Enripen'd by refreshing show'rs? Yet certain as these flow'rs shall fade, Time ev'ry beauty will invade. The BUTTERFLY of various hue, More than the flow'r, resembles you: Fair, flutt'ring, fickle, busy thing, To pleasure ever on the wing, Gayly coquetting for an hour, To die, and ne'er be thought of more.