Classic Poem

What malice, faction, noise and strife,
Attend the little walk thro' life;
Detraction, envy, aim their darts,
Envenom'd, at the purest hearts;
Man like a weather-cock we find,
Must stand the blast of every wind;
He's wrong, or right, a fool, or wit,
Just as the multitude think fit,
And oft their wife determinations
Abuse the best of reputations:
His art, or whatsoe'er he rests on,
By fools and knaves is call'd in question;
And as they cry the luckless sound
Report attendant carries round,
With greedy ears the mob devour,
And damn a million in an hour.

Tray a poor dog of simple skill,
Yet happy in a right good will;
Lay basking in the mid-day sun,
No harm he thought, no harm had done,
When a strange hub-bub struck his ears,
And instantly a mob appears;
Halloo! they cry'd, halloo! halloo!
Tray ran as fast as Tray could do:
He turns, and winds, and mends his pace,
Yet doubtful how will end the chace;
Thro' many an alley, lane and street,
In haste he ply'd his dubious feet;
In every ailey, street and lane,
His enemies he found again.

The noise encreas'd, men, boys, and all,
(Fully determin'd of his fall)
With pitch forks, poker, tongs or what
They in the height of fury got;
Some at his head, some at his back,
Began the desperate attack;
'Till mad indeed he foam'd and bit,
And strove such usage to acquit:
But ah! in vain by all assail'd,
His strength decreas'd, his courage fail'd;
He sunk opprest on every side,
Yet howl'd out this before he died:

Blood-thirsty men, I yield my breath,
Yet time will soon revenge my death:
Uncertain is this earthly state,
And few can read the book of fate:
Yet sure I could expect no less,
Your acts thro' life your minds express;
I'm but a dog and not a brother ,
Yet thus you hunt down one another .