THE

LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVED;

OR

HYPOCRISY DETECTED*.

THUS says the prophet of the Turk,
Good mussulman, abstain from pork;
There is a part in ev'ry swine
No friend or follower of mine
May taste, whate'er his inclination,
On pain of excommunication.
Such Mahomet's mysterious charge,
And thus he left the point at large.
Had he the sinful part express'd,
They might with safety eat the rest;
But for one piece they thought it hard
From the whole hog to be debarr'd;
And set their wit at work to find

What joint the prophet had in mind.

* It may be proper to inform the reader, that this piece has already appeared in print, having found it's way, though with some unnecessary additions by an unknown hand, into the Leeds Journal, without the author's privity.

Much controversy straight arose,

These choose the back, the belly those;
By some 'tis confidently said

He meant not to forbid the head;
While others at that doctrine rail,
And piously prefer the tail.

Thus, conscience freed from ev'ry clog,
Mahometans eat up the hog.

You laugh-'tis well-The tale applied May make you laugh on t'other side. Renounce the world-the preacher cries. We do-a multitude replies.

While one as innocent regards

A snug and friendly game at cards;

And one, whatever you may say,

Can see no evil in a play;

Some love a concert, or a race;

And others shooting, and the chase.

Revil'd and lov'd, renounc'd and follow'd, Thus, bit by bit, the world is swallow'd; Each thinks his neighbour makes too free, Yet likes a slice as well as he;

With sophistry their sauce they sweeten, Till quite from tail to snout 'tis eaten.

ON

THE DEATH

OF

MRS. (NOW LADY) THROCKMORTON'S

BULFINCH.

YE nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red
With tears o'er hapless fav'rites shed,
O share Maria's grief!

Her fav'rite, even in his cage,

(What will not hunger's cruel rage?)

Assassin'd by a thief.

Where Rhenus strays his vines among, The egg was laid from which he sprung; And, though by nature mute,

Or only with a whistle blest,

Well-taught he all the sounds express'd

Of flagelet or flute.

LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCH. 263

The honours of his ebon poll

Were brighter than the sleekest mole,

His bosom of the hue,

With which Aurora decks the skies,

When piping winds shall soon arise,
To sweep away the dew.

Above, below, in all the house,
Dire foe alike of bird and mouse,
No cat had leave to dwell;

On

And Bully's cage supported stood props of smoothest shaven wood, Large-built and lattic'd well.

Well-lattic'd-but the grate, alas!

Not rough with wire of steel or brass,
For Bully's plumage sake,

But smooth with wands from Ouse's side,
With which, when neatly peel'd and dried,
The swains their baskets make.

Night veil'd the pole: all seem'd secure :
When led by instinct sharp and sure,
Subsistence to provide,

254 LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULFINCH.

A beast forth sallied on the scout,
Long-back'd, long-tail'd, with whisker'd snout,
And badger-colour'd hide.

He, ent'ring at the study-door,

It's ample area 'gan explore;

And something in the wind

Conjectur'd, sniffing round and round,
Better than all the books he found,
Food chiefly for the mind.

Just then, by adverse fate impress'd,
A dream disturb'd poor Bully's rest;
In sleep he seem'd to view

A rat fast clinging to the cage,

And, screaming at the sad presage,
Awoke and found it true.

For, aided both by ear and scent,

Right to his mark the monster went-
Ah, muse! forbear to speak

Minute the horrors that ensu'd;

His teeth were strong, the cage was wood-
He left poor Bully's beak,