The ROSE and BUTTERFLY: A FABLE

At day's early dawn a gay Butterfly spied, A budding young Rose, and he wish'd her his bride: She blush'd when she heard him his passion declare, And tenderly told him—he need not despair.

Their faith was soon plighted; as lovers will do, He swore to be constant, she vow'd to be true.

It had not been prudent to deal with delay, The bloom of a rose passes quickly away, And the pride of a butterfly dies in a day.

When wedded, away the wing'd gentleman hies, From flow'ret to flow'ret he wantonly flies; Nor did he revisit his bride, till the sun Had less than one-fourth of his journey to run. The Rose thus reproach'd him—'Already so cold! 'How feign'd, O you false one, that passion you told! ''Tis an age since you left me:' (She meant a few hours; But such we'll suppose the fond language of flowers) 'I saw when you gave the base vi'let a kiss: 'How—how could you stoop to a meanness like this? 'Shall a low, little wretch, whom we roses despise, 'Find favour, O love! in my butterfly's eyes? 'On a tulip, quite tawdry, I saw your fond rape, 'Nor yet could the pitiful primrose escape: 'Dull daffodils too, were with ardour address'd, 'And poppies, ill-scented, you kindly caress'd.'

The coxcomb was piqu'd, and reply'd with a sneer, 'That you're first to complain, I commend you, my dear! 'But know from your conduct my maxims I drew, 'And if I'm inconstant, I copy from you. 'I saw the boy Zephirus rifle your charms, 'I saw how you simper'd and smil'd in his arms; 'The honey-bee kiss'd you, you cannot disown, 'You favour'd besides—O dishonour!—a drone; 'Yet worse—'tis a crime that you must not deny, 'Your sweets were made common, false rose, to a fly.

This law long ago did Love's providence make, That ev'ry coquet should be curs'd with a rake,