The sneaking Cur before her flies : 

 She whistles, calls ; fair speech she tries. 

 These nought avail. Her choler burns ; 

 The fist and cudgel threat by turns ; 

 With hasty stride she presses near ; 

 He slinks aloof, and howls with fear. 



Was ever Cur so cursed ! (he cried) 

 What star did at my birth preside ? 

 Am I for life by compact bound 

 To tread the wheel's eternal round ? 

 Inglorious task ! Of all our race 

 No slave is half so mean and base. 

 Had fate a kinder lot assign'd, 

 And formed me of the lap-dog kind, 

 I, then, in higher life employ'd, 

 Had indolence and ease enjoy'd ; 

 And, like a gentleman, caress'd, 

 Had been the lady's fav'rite guest. 

 Or were I sprung from spaniel line, 

 Was his sagacious nostril mine, 

 By me, their never-erring guide, 

 From wood and plain their feasts supplied, 

 Knights, squires, attendant on my pace, 

 Had shared the pleasures of the chase. 

 Endued with native strength and fire, 

 Why call'd I not the lion sire ? 

 A lion ! such mean views I scorn ; 

 Why was I not of woman born ? 

 Who dares with reason's power contend ? 



(>7 



