WHILE he is mark'd by vision clearWho fathoms Nature's treasures, The man may follow, void of fear,Who her proportions measures.
Though for one mortal, it is true,These trades may both be fitted, Yet, that the things themselves are twoMust always be admitted.
Once on a time there lived a cookWhose skill was past disputing, Who in his head a fancy tookTo try his luck at shooting.
So, gun in hand, he sought a spotWhere stores of game were breeding, And there ere long a cat he shotThat on young birds was feeding.
This cat he fancied was a hare,Forming a judgment hasty, So served it up for people's fare,Well-spiced and in a pasty.
Yet many a guest with wrath was fill'd(All who had noses tender):
The cat that's by the sportsman kill'dNo cook a hare can render.
1810.
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