The Patowmac Guardian, And Berkeley Advertiser

The SNAKE and WORM. A Fable.

Qui fit Mecenas ut nemo quam sibi fortem,
Seu ratio dederit, seu fors objecerit, illa
Contentus vivat?

UPON a bank with mossy clad,
A snake indulging lay,
And in continu'd folds return'd
His tribute to the day.
The lightning's quick and lambent flame
Shot from his piercing eye,
His chequer'd sides in lustre shone
With scales of beauteous dye.
Now coil'd in various artful folds,
A while repos'd he'd lie,
Then rose with quick elastic spring,
And chase the heedless fly.
An envious worm, from darkness crept,
His lucid charms survey'd,
And, mov'd with rancour at the sight,
He thus indignant said:

"Why am I form'd of worthless clay,
The vilest reptile sure?
Curs'd with fatigue, with heat, and pain,
I ev'ry pang endure.
Talk of distress, there's not an elf
So wretched sure as I:
On me, ye gods, your lightnings dart,
For I'm content to die!
For when the summer suns exult,
And Sirius burns the plain,
Fix'd in some dreary cave, I waste
A life of care and pain:
Or if perchance I creep for air,
Then man arrests my flight;
And in some pot with moss well fill'd,
I pine away the night.
Soon as Aurora gilds the east.
For carp I'm doom'd repast,
And tortur'd on the savage hook,
I writhe away my last.
When winter with its icy chains,
Has bound the captive earth,
Then in some frozen cell I pine,
With anguish, cold, and dearth.
While this luxuriant snake abounds
With ev'ry wish'd delight,
Ranges by day the fertile fields,
And seeks his hole by night:
Frisks o'er the plain with wanton bound,
And circumspective eye;
Feels not a want, nor feels a care,
Tho' worms unpitied die.
With vigour and with beauty bless'd.
He's uncontroul'd and free;
But be it so, ye partial gods!
And rain your ills on me."

Scarce had he spoke, when o'er the dale
A trusty ploughman came,
Tending his course to distant wake,
To meet his ruddy dame.
The wanton snake's expanded length
Soon caught his wand'ring eye,
"Straight to my rage, the rustic cry'd,
A victim thou shalt die."
Quick o'er his head the weapon flew,
The blow retards his flight;
His eyes their pristine lustre lose,
In endless, gloomy night.
The snake, which late in gambol play'd.
Now writhes with shudd'ring death,
And on the bank where late he frisk'd.
And now resigns his breath..
The boist'rous clown the worm alarm'd,
Who shrunk into his cell,
And there, on cool reflection, found
A heaven in his hell.