THE Grumbletonians; OR, THE DOGS without-Doors.

A Wealthy Farmer in the West,
 With Life's Enjoyments amply blest,
 A Man esteem'd both far and near,
 Who in his House kept special Beer;
 Twelve Children eke around his Table,
 All lusty, lively, brisk and able:

He carried wondrous well his Age,
 His Wife was Housewifely and Sage;
 They throve, and pick'd up Wealth apace,
 And none at Church of them took Place. 

Two Mastiff Dogs he kept, to guard
 His House, his Poultry, and his Yard;
 With Offal from the Meat he kill'd,
 Their hungry Paunches well he fill'd:
 All sleek they were, and in good Case,
 And shew'd the Plenty of the Place. 

But in the House they durst not enter,
 My Dame her Crock'ry would not venture;
 For she had Tea-Table, and China,
 And held her Head as high as any:
 Her House was kept too nice and neat
 For Dogs to traipse with dirty Feet. 

For many Years these Currs were quiet,
 Nor grumbled at their Bounds or Diet,
 Would bark at Beggar or at Stranger,
 And make much Noise at little Danger;
 But, to the Comers too and fro,
 No Marks of Surliness they'd shew. 

A Hound the Farmer had beside,
 A Hound! His Hearts delight and Pride;
 Peerless he was of all his Kind,
 So fleet! he would out-strip the Wind,
 The best that ever follow'd Game,
 Frolick he was, and FLY his Name. 

Carest and lov'd by ev'ry Soul,
 He rang'd the House without Controul;
 This made the angry Mastiffs jealous,
 FLY should be rais'd above his Fellows:
 Keep his Nose warm and lick the Plates,
 While they stood shiv'ring at the Gates. 

They grudge each Bit that goes beside 'em,
 And vow Revenge what e'er betide 'em;
 In short so wond'rous fell they grew,
 At Friend and Foe they fiercely flew. 

These ugly Currs kept such a Rout,
 That no one durst stir in or out;
 To quiet them their Master try'd,
 But they his Threats and Him defy'd:
 Their Fury would not be abated,
 They bark'd the more, the more he rated;
 And made such a confounded Din,
 He thought 'twas best to let 'em in:

For why, their Noise disturb'd the Head
 Of my good Dame, now sick a-bed;
 So, rather than her Head should ake,
 He let 'em in for Quiet's sake. 

But lest their Rage on him should fall,
 He wisely rais'd his Plowmen all,
 With Prong, and Fork, and Bill in Hand,
 These furious Creatures to withstand;
 But for this Caution was no need,
 As by the Sequel you may read:

For soon as e'er the Door was ope,
 They both into the Kitchen crope,
 Wagging their Tails, all tame and mild,
 As harmless Lamb, or sucking Child. 

These Currs who were so fierce before,
 Now crouch and wriggle on the Floor;
 Fawn at the very Servants Feet,
 And tremble lest they should be beat. 

Next they traverse the Kitchen round,
 To see what Prog is to be found;
 Where, having fed to Hearts desire,
 They stretch'd themselves before the Fire,
 Content and snug they lay till broad day Light,
 The House was still, my Dame slept well that Night.