The
LORD
and
the
BRAMBLE
TO
view
his
stately
Walks
and
Groves
,
A
Man
of
Pow'r
and
Place
Was
hast'ning
on
;
but
as
he
roves
,
His
Foe
the
slighted
Bramble
proves
,
And
stops
his
eager
Pace
.
That
Shrub
was
qualify'd
to
Bite
;
And
now
there
went
a
Tale
,
That
this
injurious
partial
Wight
Had
bid
his
Gard'ner
rid
it
quite
,
And
throw
it
o'er
the
Pail
.
Often
the
Bry'r
had
wish'd
to
speak
,
That
this
might
not
be
done
;
But
from
the
Abject
and
the
Weak
,
Who
no
important
Figure
make
,
What
Statesman
does
not
run
?
But
clinging
now
about
his
Waste
,
Ere
he
had
time
to
fly
,
My
Lord
(
quoth
he
)
for
all
your
haste
,
I'll
know
why
I
must
be
displac'd
,
And
'mongst
the
Rubbish
lie
.
Must
none
but
buffle-headed
Trees
Within
your
Ground
be
seen
?
Or
tap'ring
Yews
here
court
the
Breeze
,
That
,
like
some
Beaux
whom
Time
does
freeze
,
At
once
look
Old
and
Green
?
I
snarl
,
'tis
true
,
and
sometimes
scratch
A
tender-footed
Squire
;
Who
does
a
rugged
Tartar
catch
,
When
me
he
thinks
to
over-match
,
And
jeers
for
my
Attire
.
As
to
Yourself
,
who
'gainst
me
fret
,
E'en
give
this
Project
o'er
:
For
know
,
where'er
my
Root
is
set
,
These
rambling
Twigs
will
Passage
get
,
And
vex
you
more
and
more
.
No
Wants
,
no
Threatnings
,
nor
the
Jail
Will
curb
an
angry
Wit
:
Then
think
not
to
chastise
,
or
rail
;
Appease
the
Man
,
if
you'd
prevail
,
Who
some
sharp
Satire
writ
.