Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/345

207 ���A rallying Wit, when he commends and jeers: 20 �The greedy Parasite I grudging note, �Who praises the good Bits, that oil his Throat; �I mark the Lady, you so fondly toast, �That plays your Gold, when all her own is lost: �The Knave, who fences your Estate by Law, �Yet still reserves an undermining Flaw. �These and a thousand more, which I cou'd tell, �Provoke my Growling, and offend my Smell. ���THE BATTLE BETWEEN THE RATS AND THE WEAZLES �In dire Contest the Rats and Weazles met, And Foot to Foot, and Point to Point was set: An ancient Quarrel had such Hatred wrought, That for Revenge, as for Renown, they fought. Now bloody was the Day, and hard the Strife, Wherein bold Warriors lost neglected Life: But as, some Errors still we must commit, Nor Valour always ballanc'd is by Wit; Among the Rats some Officers appear'd, With lofty Plumage on their Foreheads rear'd, Unthinking they, and ruin'd by their Pride: For when the Weazles prov'd the stronger Side, A gen'ral Rout befell, and a Retreat, Was by the Vanquish'd now implor'd of Fate ; To slender Crannies all repair'd in haste, Where easily the undress'd Vulgar past: But when the Rats of Figure wou'd have fled, So wide those branching Marks of Honour spread, The Feather in the Cap was fatal to the Head. ��� �