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Were perfect in our kind! And why despise
Is he obstinate?
We must not, Jacob, be deceived by words,
born to be
And baconised; that he must please to give
Woe to the young posterity of Pork!
Again. Thou say'st The pig is ugly. Jacob, look at him! Those eyes have taught the lover flattery. His face,-nay, Jacob, Jacob, were it fair To judge a lady in her dishabille? Fancy it drest, and with saltpetre rouged. Behold his tail, my friend; with curls like that The wanton hop marries her stately spouse: So crisp in beauty Amoretta's hair Rings round her lover's soul the chains of love. And what is beauty, but the aptitude
Of parts harmonious? give thy fancy scope,
Shape such a foot and ancle as the waves
When Venus from the enamoured sea arose.
The last charge :—he lives A dirty life. Here I could shelter him With noble and right-reverend precedents, And shew by sanction of authority That 'tis a very honourable thing To thrive by dirty ways. But let me rest On better ground the unanswerable defence. The pig is a philosopher, who knows No prejudice. Dirt? Jacob,-what is dirt?
If matter, . . why the delicate dish that tempts
That stuffs him to the throat-gates, is no more.
And there! that breeze
That speaks conviction. O'er yon blossom'd field Of beans it came, and thoughts of bacon rise.
Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the Admiral of the Orient, remained at his post, in the battle of the Nile, after the ship had taken fire, and all the guns had been abandoned. He perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames had reached the powder.
THE boy stood on the burning deck,
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
A proud though childlike form.
The flames rolled on-he would not go,
That father, faint in death below,
He called aloud, "Say, father, say,
He knew not that the chieftain lay
"Speak, father!" once again he cried,
And," but the booming shots replied,
Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And look'd from that lone post of death
And shouted but once more aloud,
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,
They wrapp'd the ship in splendour wild,
There came a burst of thunder-sound
With fragments strew'd the sea!
With mast and helm and pennon fair,
SLOWLY thy flowing tide
Came in, old Avon! scarcely did mine eyes,
With many a stroke and strong
The labouring boatmen upward plied their oars, Yet little way they made, though labouring long, Between thy winding shores.
Now down thine ebbing tide
Now o'er the rocks that lay
So silent late, the shallow current roars;
Avon! I gaze and know
The lesson emblem'd in thy varying way ;
Kingdoms which long have stood,
And slow to strength and power attained at last, Thus from the summit of high fortune's flood They ebb to ruin fast.