The New Hampshire Gazette And Historical Chronicle

The Bulfinch and Sparrow.
A FABLE,
By the KING of PRUSSIA.

O Grandeur, and its pompous train,
What notions false we entertain!
The glittering dress, the splendid feast,
Those seeking most who know them least;
Our time, anxiety, and cost,
In the vain acquisition lost.
Its joys and grief to every state
Adapted by the will of Fate,
The man we envy oft, as blest,
In secret pines, with cares opprest.
Of this, though trite, just observation,
My Fable is an illustration.
As on the rake, one winter's day,
A town bred Sparrow wing'd his way,
Possess'd of each engaging art
To win the feather'd fair one's heart,
To all his rivals still preferr'd,
The fav'rite of each female bird;
He lighted near an ancient seat,
Whose turrets mark the Squire's retreat;
The mansion, where resides his Honour,
The Lord and Guardian of the Manor;
Or, the Right Worshipful the Mayor,
Whose Corporation's all his care.

Here, hopping round from tree to tree,
Curious: no doubt, to hear and see.
A Bullfinch, from a window high,
Attracted the young rover's eye.
Struck with the warbler's gilded cage,
He glow'd with envy, grief and rage,
How partial, he exclaim'd, is Fate
See how that Bullfinch lives in state,
The happiest of the feather'd race::
How different the poor Sparrow's case!:
There.' shelter'd from the winds and rain.
He chaunts at ease his warbling strain.
Here I sit.' shivering in the bower,.
Expos'd through each inclement, hour
To nipping frosts,. or.melting snows:
Ills that no pamper'd Bullfinch knows.
He cherish'd at the sumptuous board,
Is lodg'd and seated like a Lord;
Fondled, and.by.his master, fed,
With sweetest cakes and whitest bread;
While after me the village runs,
With pelting stones, and popping guns.
Forc'd by such barb'rous sport to fly,
A miserable wand'rer I.
In the more hospitable wood
Pick up and down, precarious food.
Hard lot! alas! how diff'rent mine,
Compar'd thrice happy bird; with thine.
Why, cruel fate! live I to rue
I was not hatch'd a Bullfinch too."
The Finch, in quite a well bred way,
Heard what our Sparrow had to say;
And understood him, though at distance,
Without th' interpreter's assistance.
Indeed a bird, not quite a fool,
Brought up in so polite a school,
Could not be thought in want of learning
A word's enough to the discerning
Not comprehend the vulgar folk!
Poh, comprehend! 'tis all a joke.
Smiling to find the aukward blunder
The foolish fellow labour'd under;
He therefore, pluming up his crest,
The envious grumbler thus address'd:
Sure friend, (Says he) you're touch'd in brain,
To talk in this mistaken train:
s 'Tis true there's something of a smattering
Of wit, in what you have been chattering:
But. chirp as Sprightly as you will,
Trust me, you reason very ill;
And to be serious for a while,
In truth. your envy makes me smile;
What is there in this fine gilt cage
So much your fancy should engage?
These wires my prison bars, where I,
A splendid slave, must live and die!
Go hence, Content, and learn of me,
How vain the finery you see.
Forbear my joys true bliss to call:
Thy LIBERTY is worth them all.'