The Weasel and the Rat.
A Hungry Weasel poor and lank,
With wrinkled Jaws, and Taper Flank,
Hardly recover'd from her Weakness,
Occasion'd by a Fit of Sickness.
Met with a Granary, and stole
Into it thro' a little Hole.
She bless'd herself to see the store,
No Miser sure could covet more:
And, thinking Nobody could harm her,
Fell to, and fed like any Farmer.
At Nights she slept, and snor'd at Ease,
And having Peace and Quietness,
Four Meals a Day, a wholesome Air,
A dainty Diet, little Care,
She quickly chang'd her meagre Feature,
And look'd like quite another Creature.
The Truth is, it would be a hard Case,
If all this should not mend one's Carcass.
Once, sitting at a Dish of Wheat,
She heard a Noise, forsook her Meat,
Ran to the Hole to save her Bacon,
Squeez'd to get thro'; but was mistaken.
And as she searches all about,
And finds no Crevish to get out,
She spies a Rat, and tells him, pray
What must I do, I've lost my way,
Which is the Hole? No, says the Rat,
Your way is right; but y'are too Fat.
Stay but a Week, and fast, good Dame, }
Till y'are as lean, as when you came, }
And then you'll find the Hole's the same. }
The Moral.
A Man in profitable Station,
Grown rich by Plundering the Nation,
Is often willing to resign,
But seldom to refund the Coin.
The Wolf and the Stork.
Wolves commonly are fam'd for Eating,
As much, as Foxes are for Cheating.
One of 'em, at a Mutton Feast,
Devour'd his Meat with so much haste;
A Bone got in his Throat, and there
Stuck fast; some Learned Authors swear,
It was the Os Sacrum; others say,
It was one of the Vertebræ.
But hang disputes; since it is all one
What Bone it was; so 'twas no small one.
There stood Sir Wolf, and full of Grief
Made signs he wanted quick Relief.
And well it was he could not Cry;
For no Soul would have come a nigh.
At last he shews it to a Stork,
The long-leg'd Surgeon goes to Work;
Takes out the Bone immediately;
And when 'twas done, desir'd his Fee.
Sure, says the Wolf, whoever draws
His Head out harmless from my Jaws,
May boast of such a Happiness,
As far o'erpays all Offices;
A thing which ne'er was done before,
And may be, ne'er will happen more.
But O Damn'd Vice Ingratitude!
To scape with Life, and be so rude,
As to ask Fees! take care young Man,
You never see my Face again.
The Moral.
Some Folks are so mischievous grown,
They claim Thanks if they let y' alone.