The Satyr and the Passenger.

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.