Till, at last, poor SIR ARGUS began to complain,
Of the sad inconvenience he felt from his train,
And propos'd, as the sky seem'd to threaten a shower,
To rest till the morning, at Nightingale Bower;
The obsequious PARROT replied by a bow,
And they went on as fast as their strength would allow.

PHILOMELA, to whom her retirement was dear,
Felt vex'd at beholding the flutterers near;
For living in harmony, softness, and quiet, [p 12]
She hated all bustle, intrusion, and riot;
And tho' a _few_ trips to the gay world she made,
Her heart, still unalter'd, remain'd in the shade.
However, our fair pensive warbler well knew,
Some sacrifice still to politeness was due;
She, therefore, soon hasten'd the coxcombs to meet;
And welcom'd them both to her rural retreat.
A delicate supper before them was plac'd,
Not with splendor, indeed, but simplicity grac'd;
At which she presided with elegant ease,
And that native good breeding, that always must please.
SIR ARGUS seem'd charm'd, and shew'd great condescension,
Was all affability, grace, and attention:
Till growing impatient, without much preamble,
He eagerly mention'd the cause of his ramble.
But no information, alas! he receiv'd,
At which he was hurt, and the NIGHTINGALE griev'd;
But hop'd he wou'd be more successful ere long, [p 13]
And propos'd, _en attendant_, to give him a song.
Delighted, he begg'd PHILOMEL would proceed;
She complied; and 'twas something _like_ singing, indeed.
No cadence was ever perform'd with such neatness:
Grassini herself never sang with such sweetness.
The favor was next of the PARROT requested,
Who, clearing his throat, was quite hoarse, he protested:
Yet gave "Pretty Poll,"[1] with such fine intonation,
SIR ARGUS cried "Bravo!" and scream'd approbation.

The Travellers now with fatigue were opprest,
So they both bade adieu, and retired to rest:
A sun-shiny morn to their slumbers succeeded,
When, wak'd to new life, on their way they proceeded.

A poor captive STARLING, who liv'd near the road, [p 14]
They soon spied, and enquir'd for the Poet's abode:
But 'twas useless, indeed! tho' they made a great rout,
For he only kept crying, "I cannot get out!"
This want of attention the PEACOCK enrag'd,
And he fiercely exclaim'd, "Ha! 'tis well thou art cag'd!
But, dear Mr. PARROT, methought that I