FAVOURITE FABLES. II

«‘Ne’er fear; I quit that filthy bog,
Where I so long have croaked incog:
People of talents, sure, should thrive,
And not be buried thus alive.

But, pray (for I’m extremely dry),
Know you of any water nigh?”

“‘None,”’ said the Rat, “‘ you'll reach to-day,
As you so slowly make your way.
Believe a friend, and take my word,
This jaunt of yours is quite absurd.
Go to your froggery again ;
In your own element remain.”
No: on the journey she was bent,
Her thirst increasing as she went;
For want of drink she scarce can hop,
And yet despairing of a drop:
Too late she moans her folly past ;
She faints, she sinks, she breathes her last.

MORAL.

Vulgar minds will pay full dear,
When once they move beyond their sphere.