Page:The blue poetry book (IA bluepoetry00lang).pdf/31

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ON A SPANIEL CALLED ‘BEAU’
7

Nor did you kill that you might eat,
And ease a doggish pain,
For him, though chased with furious heat,
You left where he was slain.

Nor was he of the thievish sort,
Or one whom blood allures,
But innocent was all his sport
Whom you have torn for yours.

My dog! what remedy remains,
Since, teach you all I can,
I see you, after all my pains,
So much resemble man?


Beau’s Reply

Sir, when I flew to seize the bird
In spite of your command,
A louder voice than yours I heard,
And harder to withstand.

You cried—‘Forbear!’—but in my breast
A mightier cried ‘Proceed!’—
’Twas Nature, sir, whose strong behest
Impell’d me to the deed.


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