JT-37-THE WORLD TURNED PEACOCK.

THE WORLD TURNED PEACOCK.

Among domestic fowls I see,
Whate’er his name or nature be,
He is a fop, I answer thee,
And loves to show his feathers;
When vernal stills serene the skies,
He struts about and proudly tries,
To show his graces to our eyes,
And looks disdain on others.

I grant ’tis beauty there we find,
In that long train he drags behind,
He looks quite gay and well refin’d,
No other half so gaudy;
He wide expands his plumage round,
Where azure, gold and blue abound,
He vainly treads along the ground,
Craves praise from every body!

But this vain fowl of which we boast,
Of all the fowls the public toast,
Is not often used to broil or roast,
Nor ever worth his feeding;
His plumage lasts not half the year,
When that may chance to disappear,
He looks quite shabby, full of fear,
And indicates low breeding.

He makes no music when he sings,
He cannot fly with unfledg’d wings,
No profit to the public brings,
His pageantry has faded;
He’s nothing left our note to gain,
We all rejoin and now disdain,
The flow so proud and once so vain,
And now so just degraded.

Thus the vain word with all her beaux,
When dress’d in ribbons and fine clothes.
Her beauty and her grandeur shows,
Disdaining all below her;
Too much engaged to look ahead,
She turns and struts where she may tread,
Her trimmings all to public spread
She wishes all to know her.

Her sweet perfume and curled hair,
Her silks, and bows, and ribbons there,
Behold the sight! who can forbear,
To love And run and take her?
She dazzles in her plumage gay,
She turns her beauties to the day,
And struts along the public way,
Ah! who could well forsake her.

She now assumes a sword in hand,
Turns gen’ral, giving loud command,
Stands head of the surrounding band,
While thousands round adore her;
Her epaulettes and buttons blaze,
She now achieves in martial ways,
The universal public gaze,
That flashes far before her.

She oft turns merchant and declares,
Superior worth is all her wares,
The giddy youth turns round and stares,
And sees them all so pretty;
’Tis there she flatters--often lies,
Deceives the vain, offends the wise,
And hides the faults from him that buys,
Talks pleasantly and witty.

She’s a coquette in every art,
She shows at first the better part,
And charms the vain, deluded heart,
And brings him on to love her;
I see each sex and every age,
In warm attachment all engage,
Run after her with equal rage,
Determin’d all to prove her.

She courted me with lurid charms,
I fell within her closing arms,
My thirst allay’d--I felt alarms,
I wanted then to leave her;
Again she clasp’d me to her breast,
And said she’d make me further blest,
Remove my fears and give me rest,
But I would not believe her.

I broke her gold-ensnaring chain,
And turned from her with strong disdain,
Resolved to love her not again,
Nor hear her voice enchanting;
I set my heart above her name,
Despised her with contempt and shame,
And now for high, immortal fame
My soul is ardent panting.