on glenriddell's fox breaking his chain

a fragment, 1791.

thou, liberty, thou art my theme;

not such as idle poets dream,

who trick thee up a heathen goddess

that a fantastic cap and rod has;

such stale conceits are poor and silly;

i paint thee out, a hignd filly,

a sturdy, stubborn, handsome dapple,

as sleek's a mouse, as round's an apple,

that when thou pleasest canst do wonders;

but when thy luckless rider blunders,

or if thy fancy should demur there,

wilt break thy neck ere thou go further.

these things premised, i sing a fox,

was caught among his native rocks,

and to a dirty kennel chained,

how he his liberty regained.

glenriddell! whig without a stain,

a whig in principle and grain,

could'st thou enve a free-born creature,

a native denizen of nature?

how could'st thou, with a heart so good,

(a better ne'er was sluiced with blood!)

nail a poor devil to a tree,

that ne'er did harm to thine or thee?

the staunchest whig glenriddell was,

quite frantic in his country's cause;

and oft was reynard's prison passing,

and with his brother-whigs canvassing

the rights of men, the powers of women,

with all the dignity of freemen.

sir reynard daily heard debates

of princes', kings', and nations' fates,

with many rueful, bloody stories