A Satyr at his Country House,
A dismal Cave, was with his Spouse,
And Brats a going to eat some Broth:
Without a Chair, or Table-Cloath,
On mossy ground they squatted down,
With special Stomachs of their own.
And just as they fell to a main,
Comes one to shelter for the Rain:
The Guest's invited to sit down,
Tho' in the mean time they went on.
He shiver'd, look'd as cold as Death,
And warm'd his Fingers with his Breath,
Says ne'er a Word, takes good Advice,
And stays not till they ask him twice,
Falls to the Porridge, takes a sup;
But being newly taken up,
'Twas hot, he blows it. Says the Satyr,
Whose Palate could bear scalding-water,
Friend, what the Devil are you a doing?
What do you mean by all this blowing?
The Stranger answers, I did blow
At first to warm my hands, and now
I blow again to cool my Broth.
How, says my Landlord, does it both!
Than y'are not like to stay with me,
I hate such juggling Company.
What! Out of the same Mouth to blow
Both hot and cold! Friend, prithee go.
I thank the Gods my Roof contains
None such as you. The Fable means.
The Moral.
None are more like to do us wrong;
Than those that wear a double Tongue.