;
I know thee for an arrant ass."

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

THE DOG IN THE MANGER.

A mastiff in a stable lay,
Couch'd on a manger full of hay.
When any thing drew near to eat,
He quickly forced it to retreat.
An ox then cried, "detested creature,
How vile is thy malignant nature,
Which will not others let enjoy
That which thou never canst employ!"

[Illustration]

THE STAG AND THE VINE.

A stag pursued with horn and hound
In a thick vineyard shelter found.
Soon as he thought the danger past,
He on the vine began to feast.
The huntsman hears the rustling noise,
And through half-eaten leaves descries
His branching horns, the pack recalls,
And merited the creature falls
To his ingratitude a prey.

Those their protectors who betray,
Unpitying, all the world will see
Consign'd to death and infamy.

[Illustration]

THE MISCHIEVOUS DOG.

Titles and ribands, bought with shame,
Folly and vice but more proclaim.
A man who own'd a vicious dog,
Upon his collar fix'd a log,
Which the vain cur supposed to be
A note of worth and dignity.
A mastiff saw his foolish pride;
"Puppy," indignantly he cried,
"That thing is put about your neck
Your mischievous designs to check;
And to who see you to declare,
Of what a currish race you are."

[Illustration]

THE SICK MAN AND THE PHYSICIAN.

Woe to the land where those who guide,
To please the people's foolish pride,
Persuade them there is nought to dread,
When ruin threatens o'er their head.

A patient, ask'd to tell his pains,
Of thirst and shivering cold complains.
"'Tis very good," the doctor said;
"He has but to remain in bed,
And take the med'cines I shall send,
The thing will soon be at an end."
When next the question was repeated,
The man complain'd he much was heated;
"This," cried the leech, "is better still!"
And thus to each increasing ill,
"That it was going well," he cried,
Till the poor martyr sunk and died.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

THE FARMER AND HIS SONS.

Work, work, my boys, with hand and mind!
Your labors you will fruitful find.

A husbandman, about to die,
Call'd on his children to come nigh:
"I leave," he says, "a small estate,
But wherewithal to make it great:
For know, a treasure it contains,
If you to search will take the pains."
He died. The sons dug all the ground,
And there no hidden treasure found;
But so productive was the soil,
The crop by far o'erpaid th