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" 'Tis green, 'tis green, Sir, I affure ye— "Green! cries the other in a fury"Why, Sir-d'ye think I've loft my eyes ?" " "Twere no great lofs, the friend replies. "For if they always ferve you thus, "You'll find 'em but of little ufe." 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, "And view'd it o'er by candle-light: "I mark'd it well-'twas 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 once 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 faid; then full before their fight Produc'd the beast, and lo!-'twas white. Both ftar'd, the man look'd wond'rous wife"Mỳ 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, "Think others fee, as well as you:
"Nor wonder, if you find that none
"Prefers your eye-fight to his own."
CHA P. XIII.
THE YOUTH AND THE PHILOSOPHER.
GRECIAN Youth, of talents rare,
Had form'd for Virtue's nobler view,
By precepts and example too,
Would often boaft his matchlefs skill,
Was praise and tranfport to his breast.
At length quite vain, he needs would fhew
His mafter what his art could do;
And bade his flaves the chariot lead
To Academus' facred fhade.
The trembling grove confefs'd its fright,
Howe'er, the youth with forward air,
And gath'ring crowds with eager eyes,
Triumphant to the gaol return'd,
Alas! unhappy youth, he cry'd,
Expect no praise from me, (and figh'd)
With indignation I furvey
Such skill and judgment thrown away.
CHA P. XIV.
SIR BALA A M.
HERE London's column, pointing at the skies
Like a tall bully, lifts the head, and lies;
There dwelt a Citizen of sober fame,
A plain good man, and Balaam was his name;
His word would pass for more than he was worth.
One folid dish his week-day meal affords,
An added pudding folemniz'd the Lord's:
Conftant at Church, and 'Change; his gains were fure, His givings rare, fave farthings to the poor.
The Devil was piqu'd fuch faintfhip to behold, And long'd to tempt him, like good Job of old: But Satan now is wifer than of yore,
And tempts by making rich, not making poor.
Rous'd by the Prince of Air, the whirlwinds fweep
Sir Balaam now, he lives like other folks,
An honeft factor ftole a Gem away:
He pledg'd it to the knight; the knight had wit,
"Where once I went to church, I'll now go twice-
The Tempter faw his time; the work he ply'd ;
Behold Sir Balaam now a man of spirit,
There (fo the Devil ordain'd) one Christmas-tide
A Nymph of Quality admires our Knight,