te it was my fate to wear
The semblance of the timid hare;
And one cold morning in December
(The luckless day you may remember),
When winter stern in icy chains
Had bound the desolated plains,
And withered every tender plant,
A hare, compelled by urgent want,
Ventured within your garden pale
To taste your parsley and your kale.
Soon of her steps you saw the trace,
And whistled Fury to the chace.
The fatal scent her track reveals,
And the fierce cur pursued her heels;
Vain was her speed! her failing breath
Left her within the jaws of death,
When doubling quick, thus sorely prest,
She sprang for shelter to your breast.
That breast, awake to pity's plea,
My kind protector! rescued me:
Your generous cares assuag'd my pangs,
And sav'd me from the terrier's fangs.
'Twas then I vow'd, the very hour
That gave me back my form and power,
To seek your humble roof with speed,
And recompense the gentle deed.

[Illustration]

Now, by the honour of a Spright
Who in good actions takes delight,
By Mab, the sovereign of fays,
Who sports beneath the moon's pale rays,
I grant to you and your good dame
The first Three Wishes that you name!
Think what will best your state amend,
And claim it from your grateful friend!
Together you had best advise,
And as you are _humane_, be _wise_!
For should you foolishly decide,
By your own choice you must abide;
Nor further does my power extend,
Howe'er dispos'd to be your friend.

So saying, the benignant fay
Quick thro' the key-hole whisk'd away.

Our cottagers from fear relieved,
Scarcely their eyes and ears believ'd:
But ah! what passions, long suppress'd,
Were rous'd in each unguarded breast;
Ambition, that had dormant lain,
And Pride, with Luxury in his train;
While Vanity performed her part
In simple Susan's easy heart!

Suppose the joy that now abounded,
The exclamations that resounded:
How strange! what luck! what can have brought it?
Good lack! Dear me! Who would have thought it?
What shall we wish for? let us ponder.
Lord, how the neighbours will all wonder!

Quoth Homespun--if 'tis not a dream,
I'll have a farm, and keep a team.

A farm! said Susan: on my life,
I'll be no farmer's dowdy wife,
To toil and drudge thro' mud and mire:
I hope you'll hold your head much higher.

Well, well, then--shall I be a Squire?--
Methinks I should be