_A hungry Goat, who had not eat Some Nights and Days----(for want of Meat) Was kindly brought at last, By Providence's Care, To better Cheer, After a more than penitential Fast. He found a Barn well stor'd with Grain: To enter in requir'd some Pain; But a delicious Bait Makes the Way easy, tho' the Pass is strait. Our Guest observing various Meats, He put on a good modish Face, He takes his Place, He ne'er says Grace, But where he likes, he there falls to and eats. At length, with jaded Teeth and Jaws, He made a Pause; And finding still some room, Fell to as he had done before, For time to come laid in his Store; And when his Guts cou'd hold no more, He thought of going home. But here he met the Glutton's Curse; He found his Belly grown so great, 'Twas vain to think of a Retreat, Till he had render'd all he had eat, And well he far'd no worse._ To the Application, Governor. _Lear._ 'Tis easy to be made, my Lord. _Esop._ I'm glad on't, Truth can never be too clear. [_Seeing ~Euph~._] Is this young Damsel your fair Daughter, Sir? _Lear._ 'Tis my Daughter, my good Lord: Fair too, if she appears such in the Eyes of the unerring _Esop_. _Esop._ [_Going up to salute her._] I never saw so beautiful a Creature. _Lear._ [_Aside._] Now's the time; kiss soft, Girl, and fire him. _Esop._ [_Gazing at her._] How partial's Nature 'twixt her Form and mine! _Lear._ [_Aside._] Look, look, look, how he gazes at her!----_Cupid_'s hard at work, I see that already. Slap; there he hits him--if the Wench would but do her Part. But see, see, how the perverse young Baggage stands biting her Thumbs, and won't give him one kind Glance----Ah the sullen Jade! Had it been a handsome strong Dog, of five-and-twenty, she'd a fall'n a coquetting on't, with every Inch about her. But may be 'tis I that spoils Sport; I'll make a Pretence to leave them together. Will your Lordship please to drink any Coffee this Morning? _Esop._ With all my Heart, Governor. _Lear._ Your Lordship will give me leave to go and order it myself; for unless I am by, 'tis never perfect. _Esop._ Provided you leave me this fair Maid in Hostage for your Return, I consent. _Lear._ My good Lord does my Daughter too much Honour. Ah that the Wench wou'd but do her Part! [_Aside going off._]----Hark, you, Hussy----[_Turning back to ~Euphronia~, aside._]----You can give yourself Airs sometimes, you know you can. Do you remember what work you made with yourself at Church t'other Day? Play your Tricks over again, once more, for my Pleasure, and let me have a good Account of this Statesman, or, d'ye hear?----You shall die a Maid; go chew upon that; go. [_Exit ~Lear~._ _Esop._ Here I am left, fair Damsel, too much expos'd to your Charms, not to fall your Victim.