Upon a GOOSE

Now the full barns with yellow sheaves are stor'd, That yield a double product to their Lord; To glean the fields, the Geese direct their way, And far from hence through unknown stubbles stray. The jolly farmer views with joyful eyes The sacred light of Michael's dawn arise, While new-shorn vales a pleasant prospect yield, And Geese unnumber'd whiten all the field. Obedient to his voice and well-known call, A grateful victim to their saint they fall. Before his hospitable gate he stands, And welcomes in his guest with greeting hands. And now the neat though homely cloth display'd, And earthern plates in shining order laid Provoke each hungry guest. The Goose appears, The reeking load a bending servant bears; With sage well stuff'd to add a sav'ry taste, And sugar'd apples crown the rich repast. Brimful with ale the nut-brown bowls go round, While every voice of Geese the praises sound: The gods themselves might envy such a feast, And thund'ring Jove might wish to prove a guest.

And thus, O sacred bird, each coming year You keep the strictest bands of friends sincere. Oh could I sing your far-resounding praise In Prior's smooth, or Pope's sublimer lays! Then should the Mantuan Swan exult no more, Nor higher than the British Goose should soar: Thy glory should the plains and vallies fill, While muses could inspire, or Geese afford a quill.