will not all this move thee once to forsake them, and keep company with a scholar that truly knows how to use thee?

By this time I had framed an elaborate poetical building — a neat, choice, and curious poem,-the first-fruits of my musical-rhyming study, which was dispersed into a quaint volume fairly bound up in principal vellum, double-filleted with leafgold, strung most gentlemanlike with carnation silk riband; which book, industriously heaped with weighty conceits, precious phrases, and wealthy numbers, I, Oliver Hubburd, in the best fashion I might, presented to Sir Christopher Clutchfist, whose bountiful virtue I blaze in my first epistle. The book he entertained but, I think, for the cover's sake, because it made such a goodly show on the backside and some two days after, returning for my remuneration, I might espy-O lamentable sight, madam!—-my book dismembered very tragically; the cover ript off, I know not for what purpose, and the carnation silk strings pulled out and placed in his Spanish-leather shoes; at which ruthful prospect I fell down and sounded; and when I came to myself again, I was an ant, and so ever since I have kept me.

NIGHTINGALE.

There keep thee still;

Since all are ill,

Venture no more ;

'Tis better be a little ant

Than a great man and live in want,
And still deplore:

So rest thee now

From sword, book, or plough.

By this the day began to spring,
And seize upon her watchful eyes,
When more tree-quiristers did sing,

And every bird did wake and rise:
Which was no sooner seen and heard,
But all their pretty chat was marr'd;
And then she said,
We are betray'd,

The day is up, and all the birds
And they abroad will blab our words.

With that she bade the ants farewell,
And all they likewise Philomel:
Away she flew,

Crying Tereu!

And all the industrious ants in throngs Fell to their work and held their tongues.

APPENDIX.

THE TRIUMPHS

OF

HONOUR AND INDUSTRY.