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Returning from his finifh'd tour,
Grown ten times perter than before,
Whatever word you chance to drop,
The travell’d fool your mouth will stop;
“ Sir, if my judgment you'll allow-
“ I've seen--and sure I ought to know”.
So begs you'd pay a due submission,
And acquiesce in his decision.
Two travellers of such a cast,
As o'er Arabia's wilds they past,
And on their way in friendly chat
Now talk'd of this, and then of that,
Discours d a while, 'mongst other matterg;
Of the Camelion's form and nature.
“ A stranger animal,” cries one,
« Sure never liv'd beneath the fun:
" A lizard's body lean and long,
" A filh's head, a ferpent's tongue,
66 Its foot with triple claw disjoin'd;
" And what a length of tail behind !
** How slow its pace: and then its hue-
66 Who ever saw so fine a blue?".
« Hold there," the other quick replies, 65 'Tis green-I saw it with these eyes, 66 As late with open mouth it lay, 6. And warm’d it in the funny ray: es Stretch'd at its ease the beast I view'd,, « And saw it eat the air for food."
" I've seen it, Sir, as well as you,, • And must again affirm it blue; • At leisure I the beait survey'd « Extended in the cooling fade..
“ 'Tis green, 'tis green, Sir, I assure ye" “ Green !" cries the other in a fury “Why, Sir-dy'e think I've lost my eyes ?”
" "Twere no great loss,” the friend replies,
“ For if they always serve you thus,
" You'll find them but of little use."
So high at last the contest rose,
From words they almost came to blows:
When luckily came by a third ;
To him the question they referr'd;
And begg'd he'd tell 'em, if he knew,
Whether the thing was green or blue ?
* Sirs,” cries the umpire, “ cease your pother-
“ The creature's neither one nor t'other,
“ I caught the animal last night,
6. And view'd it o'er by candle-light:
“ I mark'd it well-'was black as jet-
“ You ftare-but, Sirs, I've got it yet,
“ And can produce it.”-“ Pray, Sir, do:
I'll lay my life the thing is blue.” " And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen “ The reptile, you'll pronounce him green."
" Well then, at ono to ease the doubt," Replies the man, “ I'll turn him out: " And when before your eyes I've set him, “ If you don't find him black, I'll eat him.”
He said; then full before their fight Produc'd the beast, and lo!--'rwas white ! Both star'd; the man look'd wond'rous wise “ My children,” the Camelion cries, (Then first the creature found a tongue) * You all are right, and all are wrong:
" When next you talk of what you view,
(s Think others fee, as well as you:
« Nor wonder, if you
find that none " Prefers your eye-fighe to his own."
CHA P. XII.
THE YOUTH AND THE PHILOSOPHER.
A GRECIAN Youth, of talents rare,
Whom Plato's philosophic care
Had form’d for Virtue's nobler view,-
By precepts and example too,
Would often boast his matchless skill,
To curb the steed, and guide the wheel.
And as he pass'd the gazing throng,
With graceful ease, and smack'd the chong.
The idiot' wonder, they express'd,
Was praise and transport to his breaft.
At length, quite vain, he needs would new
His master what his art could do;
And bade his flaves the chariot lead
To Academus' facred thade.
The trembling grove confess'd its fright,
The wood-nymph's started at the fight;
The Muses drop the learned lyre,
And to their inmoft shades retire.
Howe'er the youth with forward air,
Bows to the Sage, and mounts the car;
The lath resounds, the coursers spring,
The chariot marks the rolling ring;
And gath'ring crowds, with eager eyes
And shouts pursue him as he flies.
Triumphant to the goal return'd,
With nobler thirst his bosom burn'd;
And now along th’indented plain,
The self-fame track he marks again,
Pursues with care the nice design,
Nor ever deviates from the line.
Amazement feiz'd the circling crowd;
The youths with emulation glow'd;
Ev'n bearded fages haild the boy,
And all, but Plato, gaz'd with joy.
For he deep judging fage, beheld
With pains the triumphs of the field :
And when the charioteer drew nigh,
And, flush'd with hope, had caught his eyes
“ Alas! unhappy youth, he cry'd,
Expect no praise from me, (and figh'd).
With indignation I furvey
Such skill and judgment thrown away.
The time profusely squander'd there,
On vulgar arts beneath thy care,
If well employ'd, at less expence,
Had taught thee honour, virtue, fense,
And rais'd thee from a coachman's fate,
To govern men, and guide the state."
WHERE London's column pointing at the kies,
Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies;
There dwelt a Citizen of fober fame,
A plain, good man, and Balaam was his name;
Religious, pundual, frugal, and so forth;
His word would pass for more than he was worth:
One folid dith his week-day meal affords,
An added pudding folemnized the Lord's :
Constant at Church, and 'Change; his gains were fure,
His givings rare, fave farthings to the poor.
The devil was piqu'd such faintship to behold,
And long'd to tempt him, like good Job of old:
But Satan now is wiser than of yore,
And tempts by making rich, not making poor,
Rous’d by the Prince of Air, the whirlwinds sweep
The surge, and plange his Father in the deep;
Then full against his Cornish lands they roar,
And two rich shipwrecks bless the lucky shore.
Sir Balaam now, he lives like other folks,
He takes his chirping pint, and cracks his jokes :
“ Live like yourself,” was foon my Lady's word
And lo! two puddings smok'd upon the board.
Aleep and naked as an Indian lay,
An honeft factor stole a gem away;
He pledg'd it to the knight: the knight had wit,
So kept the di'mond, and the rougue was bit.
Some scruple rose, but thus he eas’d his thought,
$* I'll now give fixpence where I gave a groat;