Page:The Cry of Nature.pdf/27

  Her forrows through the night, and on the boughs Sole fitting; ſtill, at every dying fall, Takes up again her lamentable ſtrain Of winding woe, till, wide around the woods, Sigh to her ſong, and with her wail reſound.

But here the ſons of ſcience ſport with the ſentiments of mercy; and why, with a malicious grin, demands the modern ſophiſt, why then is man furniſhed with the canine, or dog-teeth, except that nature meant him carnivorous?—Fallacious argument! Is the fitneſs of an action to be