And to the mansion house, or council hall, Still on her black splay feet may the huge tortoise crawl. Not Parson's butt my appetite can move, Nor, Bell, thy beer; nor even thy nectar, Jove. If B*** be happy, and in health, his guest, Whom wit and learning charm, can wish no better feast. THE HARES, A FABLE. Yes, yes, I grant the sons of earth Are doomed to trouble from their birth: We all of sorrow have our share; But say, Is your's without compare? Look round the world; perhaps you'll find Each individual of our kind Pressed with an equal load of ill, Equal at least. Look further still, And own your lamentable case Is little short of happiness. In yonder hut, that stands alone, Attend to Famine's feeble moan; Or view the couch where Sickness lies; Mark his pale cheek, and languid eyes, His frame by strong convulsion torn, His struggling sighs, and looks forlorn. Or see, transfixed with keener pangs, Where o'er his hoard the miser hangs; Whistles the wind; he starts, he stares, Nor Slumber's balmy blessing shares; Despair, Remorse, and Terror roll Their tempests on his harassed soul. But here, perhaps, it may avail To enforce our reasoning with a tale. Mild was the morn, the sky serene, The jolly hunting band convene; The beagle's breast with ardour burns; The bounding steed the champaign spurns; And fancy oft the game descries Through the hound's nose, and huntsman's eyes. Just then, a council of the hares Had met, on national affairs. The chiefs were set; while o'er their head The furze its frizzled covering spread. Long lists of grievances were heard, And general discontent appeared. "Our harmless race shall every savage, "Both quadruped and biped, ravage? "Shall horses, hounds, and hunters still "Unite their wits to work us ill? "The youth, his parent's sole delight, "Whose tooth the dewy lawns invite, "Whose pulse in every vein beats strong, "Whose limbs leap light the vales along, "May yet e'er noontide meet his death, "And lie dismembered on the heath: "For youth, alas! nor cautious age, "Nor strength, nor speed, eludes their rage. "In every field we meet the foe, "Each gale comes fraught with sounds of woe: "The morning but awakes our fears, "The evening sees us bathed in tears. "But must we ever idly grieve, "Nor strive our fortunes to relieve? "Small is each individual force, "To stratagem be our recourse; "And then, from all our tribes combined, "The murderer to his cost may find, "No foe is weak, whom Justice arms, "Whom Concord leads, and Hatred warms. "Be roused; or liberty acquire, "Or in the great attempt expire."-- He said no more, for in his breast