JESOTS FABLES. 113 Whom Boreas charg'd with a huge Drift of Snow. The Man Began Having no Fire, his Fingers ends to blow. Why thus he blew his Hands ? His Hofl demands, And wondring (lands: Who then reply'd; My Breath, my Fingers will Streight unbenum, and warm,, though ne'r fo chill. Soon the kind Satyr made a Fire, and got Boyl'd Lentils,, which he gave the Stranger, hot. The Traveller begins to blow His Broth, Then ask'd the R ural Diety, W hy io ? My Breath will cool't,he faid: Then wondrous wrath, The flaring Satyr anfwer'd ; I that am The Devil's Siller's Son,and to his Dam As neer ally'd by my dear Mother, which Is now a famous Caledonian Witch, Dare not a Monfler like to thee behold ; A Man That can With the fame Lungs at once blow Hot and Cold. Be gon, or elfe that Breath Thou fhalt bequeath To me in Death. A Sycophant, and a Backbiter too! My Uncle himfelf had bell beware of you. Moral. Who fmile, and ftab; at once deer, and attaint; Lil^e FiBures are, here Devil, and there Saint: But Fiends and Saints convertible be, for where We fry a Devil, fome fay a Saint goes there. R Fab.