An helpless animal, distress'd,
Excites compassion in the breast.

Poor Robin to the garden steer'd;
He'd lost his wife; his children rear'd;
And sought, his family being gone,
Retirement, till the spring came on.
Methinks 'twould vastly suit high life,
Could they but yearly change a wife.
So sure a remedy there's none,
Effectually to cure Crim. Con.

Pride taught him to find out a stand
Like man--a mansion rather grand;
In a large holly soon was seated,
Most beautiful and variegated.

Guarding the window stood the tree,
Where Robin ev'ry act could see.
As morning rose he march'd in view,
Asking the ladies 'how they do?'
Till Spring he shunn'd the feather'd race;
Familiar with the human face.

Short, dark, and cold, the day was said;
For surly winter rear'd his head.
The night was dark, and colder far;
The Heav'ns cou'd not produce a star.
What bird can either dine or sup
When snow has lock'd his cupboard up?
He seemingly, though silent, said,
'I'll thank you for a crumb of bread.'

Nancy the crumbs of comfort took,
And instantly obey'd his look.
Nancy, whose claim is the last word,
Directly christen'd him 'My Bird.'
The laundry's open'd, solely, we guess,
To give him daily e and re-gress;
And where our worthy Robin's fate is,
To find both food and lodging gratis.
He'd liberty to strol all day;
Amuse himself, or seek for prey;
At night he might whene'er he chose,
Retire to thaw his icey toes.

Ne'er bid to go--came at command;
And took the crumbs from Nancy's hand.
Pleas'd with his hopping up and down,
She valued him at half-a-crown.
A rising flame the nymph discovers;
She'd hardly change him for two lovers.
Her wrath might boil up to the brim,
But not a drop was aim'd at him.
Her truest friends may scalded be,
Who ne'er offended more than he.
Take this advice, 'twill bliss afford,
Your husband treat as you the bird.

Now John to shut the laundry steals
While Hamlet follow'd at his heels;
But neither of them once suspected,
Robin was perch'd and unprotected.
The keen-eyed dog made no delay,
Instantly fastened on his prey;
The suff'rer left, without a pause,
His little life in Hamlet's jaws.

Now Hamlet was, O dreadful doom!
Directly charg'd to quit the room;
And would have felt a basting sore,
Only a fav'rite was before.

From Ann a scold began to flow,
For, by long practice, she knew how.
The elements exert their power,
Then terminated in a shower:
Thus, though loud thunders cease to creep,
The dismal clouds in sorrow weep.