The Thrush and Pye

C ONCEAL'D within an hawthorn bush,
We're told, that an experienc'd Thrush
Instructed, in the prime of Spring,
Many a neighbouring bird to sing.
She caroll'd, and her various song
Gave lessons to the listening throng:
But, the entangling boughs between,
'Twas her delight to teach unseen.

At length, the little wondering race
Would see their favourite face to face;
They thought it hard to be denied,
And begg'd that she'd no longer hide.
O'er-modest, worth's peculiar fault,
Another shade the tutoress sought;
And loth to be too much admir'd,
In secret from the bush retir'd.

An impudent, presuming Pye,
Malicious, ignorant, and sly,
Stole to the matron's vacant seat,
And in her arrogance elate,
Rush'd forward—with—"My friends, you see
The mistress of the choir in me:
Here, be your due devotion paid,
I am the songstress of the shade."

A Linnet, that sat listening nigh,
Made the impostor this reply:
"I fancy, friend, that vulgar throats
Were never form'd for warbling notes:
But if these lessons came from you,
Repeat them in the public view;
That your assertions may be clear,
Let us behold as well as hear."

The lengthening song, the softening strain,
Our chattering Pye attempts in vain,
For to the fool's eternal shame,
All she could compass was a scream.

The birds, enrag'd, around her fly,
Nor shelter nor defence is nigh:
The caitiff wretch, distress'd, forlorn!
On every side is peck'd and torn!
Till, for her vile atrocious lies,
Under their angry beaks she dies.

Such he his fate, whose scoundrel claim
Obtrudes upon a neighbour's fame.

Friend E——n, the tale apply,
You are, yourself, the chatt'ring Pye:
Repent, and with a conscious blush,
Go make atonement to the Thrush.