d him.
The Snake scarce felt the genial heat
Before his heart with native malice beat.
He raised his head, thrust out his forked tongue,
Coil'd up, and at his benefactor sprung.
"Ungrateful wretch!" said he, "is this the way
My care and kindness you repay?
Now you shall die." With that his axe he takes,
And with two blows three serpents makes.
Trunk, head, and tail were separate snakes;
And, leaping up with all their might,
They vainly sought to reunite.

_'Tis good and lovely to be kind;
But charity should not be blind;
For as to wretchedness ingrate,
You cannot raise it from its wretched state._

The Dairywoman and the Pot of Milk

A Pot of Milk upon her cushioned crown,
Good Peggy hastened to the market town;
Short-clad and light, with step she went,
Not fearing any accident;
Indeed to be the nimbler tripper,
Her dress that day,
The truth to say,
Was simply petticoat and slipper.
And, thus bedight,
Good Peggy, light,
Her gains already counted,
Laid out the cash
At single dash,
Which to a hundred eggs amounted.
Three nests she made,
Which, by the aid
Of diligence and care, were hatched.
"To raise the chicks,
We'll easily fix,"
Said she, "beside our cottage thatched.
The fox must get
More cunning yet,
Or leave enough to buy a pig.
With little care,
And any fare,
He'll grow quite fat and big;
And then the price
Will be so nice
For which the pork will sell!
'Twill go quite hard
But in our yard
I'll bring a cow and calf to dwell--
A calf to frisk among the flock!"
The thought made Peggy do the same;
And down at once the milk pot came,
And perished with the shock.
Calf, cow, and pig, and chicks, adieu!
Your mistress' face is sad to view--
She gives a tear to fortune spilt;
Then, with the down-cast look of guilt,
Home to her husband empty goes,
Somewhat in danger of his blows.

Who buildeth not, sometimes, in air,
His cots, or seats, or castles fair?
From kings to dairywomen--all--
The wise, the foolish, great and small--
Each thinks his waking dream the best.
Some flattering error fills the breast:
The world, with all its wealth, is ours,
Its honours, dames, and loveliest bowers.
Instinct with valour, where alone,
I hurl the m