Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/155

 With couchant cringe, and flattering tale, Smooth Bawty did so far prevail, That Musick gave her leave to litter; (But mark what follow'd — faith! she bit her) Whole baskets full of bits and scraps, And broth enough to fill her paps; For, well she knew, her numerous brood, For want of milk, would suck her blood. But when she thought her pains were done, And now 'twas high time to be gone; In civil terms, — "My friend," said she, "My house you've had on courtesy; And now I earnestly desire, That you would with your cubs retire; For, should you stay but one week longer, I shall be starved with cold and hunger." The guest reply'd — "My friend, your leave I must a little longer crave; Stay till my tender cubs can find Their way — for now, you see, they're blind; But, when we've gathered strength, I swear, We'll to our barn again repair." The time pass'd on; and Musick came, Her kennel once again to claim; But Bawty, lost to shame and honour, Set all her cubs at once upon her; Made her retire, and quit her right, And loudly cry'd — "A bite! a bite!"

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Thus did the Grecian wooden horse Conceal a fatal armed force: No sooner brought within the walls, But Ilium's lost, and Priam falls. HORACE,