hungry foxes round them star'd,
And for the promised feast prepar'd.
'Where, sir, is all this dainty cheer?
Nor turkey, goose, nor hen is here.
These are the phantoms of your brain;
And your sons lick their lips in vain.'
'O, gluttons,' says the drooping sire,
'Restrain inordinate desire,
Your liquorish taste you shall deplore,
When peace of conscience is no more.
Does not the hound betray our pace,
And gins and guns destroy our race?
Thieves dread the searching eye of power
And never feel the quiet hour.
Old age (which few of us shall know)
Now puts a period to my woe.
Would you true happiness attain,
Let honesty your passions rein;
So live in credit and esteem,
And the good name you lost, redeem.'
'The counsel's good,' a son replies,
'Could we perform what you advise.
Think what our ancestors have done;
A line of thieves from son to son.
To us descends the long disgrace,
And infamy hath marked our race.
Though we like harmless sheep should feed,
Honest in thought, in word, in deed,
Whatever hen-roost is decreas'd,
We shall be thought to share the feast.
The change shall never be believ'd,
A lost good name is ne'er retriev'd.'
'Nay then,' replies the feeble fox,
'(But hark, I hear a hen that clucks,)
Go; but be moderate in your food;
A chicken, too, might do me good.'

_J. Gay_

LXXXVI

_THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS, AND HOW HE GAINED THEM_

'You are old, Father William,' the young man cried,
'The few locks which are left you are grey;
You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man
Now tell me the reason, I pray.'

'In the days of my youth,' Father William replied,
'I remember'd that youth would fly fast,
And abused not my health and my vigour at first,
That I never might need them at last.'

'You are old, Father William,' the young man cried,
'And pleasures with youth pass away;
And yet you lament not the days that are gone,
Now tell me the reason, I pray.'

'In the days of my youth,' Father William replied,
I remember'd that youth could not last;
I thought of the future whatever I did,
That I never might grieve for the past.'

'You are old, Father William,' the young man cried,
'And life must be hastening away;
You are cheerful, and love