The
Owl
Describing
her
Young
Ones
.
WHY
was
that
baleful
Creature
made
,
Which
seeks
our
Quiet
to
invade
,
And
screams
ill
Omens
through
the
Shade
?
'Twas
,
sure
,
for
every
Mortals
good
,
When
,
by
wrong
painting
of
her
Brood
,
She
doom'd
them
for
the
Eagle's
Food
:
Who
proffer'd
Safety
to
her
Tribe
,
Wou'd
she
but
shew
them
or
describe
,
And
serving
him
,
his
Favour
bribe
.
When
thus
she
did
his
Highness
tell
:
In
Looks
my
Young
do
all
excel
,
Nor
Nightingales
can
sing
so
well
.
You'd
joy
to
see
the
pretty
Souls
,
With
wadling
Steps
and
frowzy
Poles
,
Come
creeping
from
their
secret
Holes
.
But
I
ne'er
let
them
take
the
Air
,
The
Fortune-hunters
do
so
stare
;
And
Heiresses
indeed
they
are
.
This
ancient
Yew
three
hundred
Years
,
Has
been
possess'd
by
Lineal
Heirs
:
The
Males
extinct
,
now
All
is
Theirs
.
I
hope
I've
done
their
Beauties
right
,
Whose
Eyes
outshine
the
Stars
by
Night
;
Their
Muffs
and
Tippets
too
are
White
.
The
King
of
Cedars
wav'd
his
Power
,
And
swore
he'd
fast
ev'n
from
that
Hour
,
Ere
he'd
such
Lady
Birds
devour
.
Th'
Agreement
seal'd
,
on
either
part
,
The
Owl
now
promis'd
,
from
her
Heart
,
All
his
Night-Dangers
to
divert
;
As
Centinel
to
stand
and
whoop
,
If
single
Fowl
,
or
Shoal
,
or
Troop
Should
at
his
Palace
aim
or
stoop
.
But
home
,
one
Evening
without
Meat
,
The
Eagle
comes
,
and
takes
his
Seat
,
Where
they
did
these
Conditions
treat
.
The
Mother-Owl
was
prol'd
away
,
To
seek
abroad
for
needful
Prey
,
And
forth
the
Misses
came
to
play
.
What's
here
!
the
hungry
Monarch
cry'd
,
When
near
him
living
Flesh
he
spy'd
,
With
which
he
hop'd
to
be
supply'd
.
But
recollecting
,
'twas
the
Place
,
Where
he'd
so
lately
promis'd
Grace
To
an
enchanting
,
beauteous
Race
;
He
paus'd
a
while
,
and
kept
his
Maw
,
With
sober
Temperance
,
in
awe
,
Till
all
their
Lineaments
he
saw
.
What
are
these
Things
,
and
of
what
Sex
,
At
length
he
cry'd
,
with
Vultur's
Becks
,
And
Shoulders
higher
than
their
Necks
?
These
wear
no
Palatines
,
nor
Muffs
,
Italian
Silks
,
or
Doyley
Stuffs
,
But
motley
Callicoes
,
and
Ruffs
.
Nor
Brightness
in
their
Eyes
is
seen
,
But
through
the
Film
a
dusky
Green
,
And
like
old
Margery
is
their
Mien
.
Then
for
my
Supper
they're
design'd
,
Nor
can
be
of
that
lovely
Kind
,
To
whom
my
Pity
was
inclin'd
.
No
more
Delays
;
as
soon
as
spoke
,
The
Plumes
are
strippd
,
the
Grisles
broke
,
And
near
the
Feeder
was
to
choak
.
When
now
return'd
the
grizly
Dame
,
(
Whose
Family
was
out
of
Frame
)
Against
League-Breakers
does
exclaim
.
How
!
quoth
the
Lord
of
soaring
Fowls
,
(
Whilst
horribly
she
wails
and
howls
)
Were
then
your
Progeny
but
Owls
?
I
thought
some
Phoenix
was
their
Sire
,
Who
did
those
charming
Looks
inspire
,
That
you'd
prepar'd
me
to
admire
.
Upon
your
self
the
Blame
be
laid
;
My
Talons
you've
to
Blood
betray'd
,
And
ly'd
in
every
Word
you
said
.
Faces
or
Books
,
beyond
their
Worth
extoll'd
,
Are
censur'd
most
,
and
thus
to
pieces
pull'd
.