Fable I.
The Lyon, the Tyger, and the Traveller
To His Highness William Duke of Cumberland
A, young Prince, the moral lay,
And in these tales mankind survey;
With early virtues plant your breast,
The specious arts of vice detest.
Princes, like Beauties, from their youth
Are strangers to the voice of truth:
Learn to contemn all praise betimes;
For flattery's the nurse of crimes.
Friendship by sweet reproof is shown,
(A virtue never near a throne;)
In courts such freedom must offend,
There none presumes to be a friend.
To those of your exalted station
Each courtier is a dedication;
Must I too flatter like the rest,
And turn my morals to a jest?
The muse disdains to steal from those,
Who thrive in courts by fulsome prose.
But shall I hide your real praise,
Or tell you what a nation says?
They in your infant bosom trace
The virtues of your Royal race,
In the fair dawning of your mind
Discern you gen'rous, mild and kind,
They see you grieve to hear distress,
And pant already to redress.
Go on, the height of good attain,
Nor let a nation hope in vain.
For hence we justly may presage
The virtues of a riper age.
True courage shall your bosom fire,
And future actions own your Sire.
Cowards are cruel; but the brave
Love mercy, and delight to save.
A Tyger, roaming for his prey,
Sprung on a Trav'ler in the way;
The prostrate .game a Lyon spies,
And on the greedy tyrant flies:
With mingled roar resounds the wood,
Their teeth, their claws distill with blood,
Till, vanquished by the Lyon's strength,
The spotted foe extends his length.
The Man besought the shaggy lord,
And on his knees for life implor'd,
His life the gen'rous hero gave.
Together walking to his Cave,
The Lyon thus bespoke his guest.
What hardy beast shall dare contest
My matchless strength? You saw the fight,
And must attest my pow'r and right,
Forc'd to forego their native home
My starving slaves at distance roam,
Within these woods I reign alone,
The boundless forest is my own;
Bears, wolves, and all the savage brood
Have dy'd the regal den with blood;
These carcasses on either hand,
Those bones that whiten all the land
My former deeds and triumphs tell,
Beneath these jaws what numbers fell.
True, says the Man, the strength I saw
Might well the brutal nation awe;
But shall a monarch, brave like you,
Place glory in so false a view?
Robbers invade their neighbour's right.
Be lov'd. Let justice bound your might.
Mean are ambitious heroes boasts
Of wasted lands and slaughters hosts;
Pyrates their power by murders gain,
Wise kings by love and mercy reign;
To me your clemency hath sliown
The virtue worthy of a throne;
Heav'n gives you power above the rest,
Like Heav'n to succour the distrest.
The case is plain, the Monarch said;
False glory hath my youth mis-led,
For beasts of prey, a servile train,
Have been the flatt'rers of my reign.
You reason well. Yet tell me, friend,
Did ever you in courts attend?
For all my fawning rogues agree
That human heroes rule like me.
Fable II.
The Spaniel and the Cameleon
A spaniel, bred with all the care
That waits upon a fav'rite heir,
Ne'er felt corrections rigid hand;
Indulg'd to disobey command,
In pamper'd ease his hours were spent;
He never knew what learning meant;
Such forward airs, so pert, so smart,
Were sure to win his lady's heart,
Each little mischief gain'd him praise;
How pretty were his fawning ways!
The wind was south, the morning fair,
He ventures forth to take the air;
He ranges al the meadow round,
And rolls upon the softest ground;
When near him a Cameleon seen
Was scarce distinguisti'd from the green.
Dear emblem of the flatt'ring host,
What live with clowns, a genius lost!
To cities and the court repair,
A fortune cannot fail thee there;
Preferment shall thy talents crown.
Believe me, friend; I know the town.
Sir, says the sycophant, like you,
Of old, politer life I knew;
Like you, a courtier born and bred,
Kings lean'd their ear to what I said,
My whisper always met success,
The ladies prais'd me for address,
I knew to hit each courtier's passion,
And flatter'd ev'ry vice in fashion.
But Jove, who hates the lyar's ways,
At once cut short my prosp'rous days,
And, sentenc'd to retain my nature,
Transform'd me to this crawling creature;
Doom'd to a life obscure and mean,
I wander in the sylvan scene.
For Jove the heart alone regards,
He punishes what man rewards.
How different is thy case and mine!
With men at least you sup and dine,
While I, condemn'd to thinnest fare,
Like those I flatter'd, feed on air.
Fable III.
The Mother, the Nurse and the Fairy
Give me a son. The blessing sent,
Were ever Parents more content?
How partial are their doating eyes!
No child is half so fair and wise.
Wak'd to the morning's pleasing care,
The Mother rose, and sought her heir;
She saw the Nurse, like one possest,
With wringing hands and sobbing breast.
Sure some disaster has befel,
Speak Nurse; I hope the boy is well.
Dear Madam, think not me to blame,
Invisible the Fairy came,
Your precious babe is hence convey'd,
And in the place a changeling laid;
Where are the father's mouth and nose,
The mother's eyes, as black as floes?
See here, a shocking aukward creature,
That speaks a fool in ev'ry feature.
The woman's blind, the Mother cries,
I see wit sparkle in his eyes.
Lord! Madam, what a squinting leer!
No doubt the Fairy hath been here.
Just as she spoke, a pigmy sprite
Pops through the key-hole, swift as light,
Perch'd on the cradle's top he stands,
And thus her folly reprimands.
Whence sprung the vain conceited lye
That we the world with fools supply?
What! give our sprightly race away,
For the dull helpless sons of clay!
Besides, by partial fondness shown,
Like you we doat upon our own.
Where yet was ever found a mother,
Who'd give her booby for another?
And should we change with human breed,
Well might we pass for fools indeed.
Fable IV.
The Eagle, and the Assembly of Animals
As Jupiter's all-seeing eye
Survey'd the worlds beneath the sky,
From this small speck of earth were sent
Murmurs and sounds of discontent;
For ev'ry thing alive complain'd
That he the hardest life sustain'd.
Jove calls his Eagle. At the word
Before him stands the royal bird.
The Bird, obedient, from heav'n's height
Downward directs his rapid flight;
Then cited ev'ry living thing,
To hear the mandates of his king.
Ungrateful creatures, whence arise
These murmurs which offend the skies;
Why this disorder? say the cause:
For just are Jove's eternal Laws.
Let each his discontent reveal.
To yon sour dog I first appeal.
Hard is my lot, the hound replies,
On what fleet nerves the greyhound flies!
While I with weary step and slow
O'er plains and vales and mountains go;
The morning sees my chafe begun,
Nor ends it 'till the setting sun.
When (says the greyhound) I pursue,
My game is lost, or caught in view,
Beyond my sight the prey's secure:
The hound is slow but always sure.
And, had I his sagacious scent,
Jove ne'er had heard my discontent.
The lyon crav'd the foxe's art;
The fox, the lyon's force and heart;
The cock implor'd the pidgeon's flight,
Whose wings were rapid, strong and light;
The pidgeon strength of wing despis'd,
And the cock's matchless valour priz'd:
The fishes wisli'd to graze the plain,
The beasts to skim beneath the main.
Thus, envious of another's state,
Each blam'd the partial hand of Fate.
The bird of heav'n then cry'd aloud.
Jove bids disperse the murm'ring croud:
The God rejects your idle prayers.
Would ye, rebellious mutineers,
Entirely change your name and nature,
And be the very envy'd creature?
What, silent all, and none consent!
Be happy then, and learn content.
Nor imitate the restless mind,
And proud ambition of mankind.
Fable V.
The Wild Boar an the Ram
A Gainst an elm a sheep was ty'd,
The butcher's knife in blood was dy'd;
The patient flock, in silent fright,
From far beheld the horrid sight;
A savage Boar, who near them stood,
Thus mock'd to scorn the fleecy brood.
All cowards should be served like you.
See, see, your murd'rer is in view;
With purple hands and reeking knife
He strips the skin yet warm with life:
Your quartered fires, your bleeding dams,
The dying bleat of harmless lambs
Call for revenge. O stupid race!
The heart that wants revenge is base.
I grant, an ancient Ram replies,
We bear no terror in our eyes,
Yet think us not of soul so tame,
Which no repeated wrongs inflame,
Insensible of ev'ry ill,
Because we want thy tusks to kill.
Know, Those who violence pursue
Give to themselves the vengeance due,
For in these massacres they find
The two chief plagues that waste mankind.
Our skin supplies the wrangling bar,
It wakes their flumbring sons to war,
And well revenge may reit contented
Since drums and parchment were invented.
Fable VI.
The Miser and Plutus
The wind was high; the window shakes,
With we start the Miser wakes,
Along the silent room he stalks,
Looks back and trembles as he walks,
Each lock and ev'ry bolt he tries,
In ev'ry creek and corner pries,
Then opes the chest with treasure stor'd,
And stands in rapture o'er his hoard.
But now, with sudden qualms possest,
He wrings his hands, he beats his breast,
By conscience stung he wildly stares,
Arid thus his guilty soul declares.
Had the deep earth her stores confin'd,
This heart had known sweet peace of mind.
But virtue's sold. Good Gods, what price
Can recompense the pangs of vice!
O bane of good! seducing cheat!
Can man, weak man, thy power defeat?
Gold banish'd honour from the mind,
And only left the name behind;
Gold sow'd the world with ev'ry ill;
Gold taught the murd'rer's sword to kill;
Twas gold instructed coward hearts
In treach'ry's more pernicious arts:
Who can recount the mischiefs o'er?
Virtue resides on earth no more!
He spoke, and sigh'd. In angry mood
Plutus, his God, before him stood;
The Miser trembling lock'd his chest,
The Vision frown'd, and thus addrest.
Whence is this vile ungrateful rant?
Each sordid rascal's daily cant:
Did I, base wretch, corrupt mankind?
The fault's in thy rapacious mind.
Because my blessings are abus'd,
Must I be censur'd, curst, accus'd?
Ev'n virtue's self by knaves is made
A cloak to carry on the trade,
And power (when lodg'd in their possession)
Grows tyranny, and rank oppression.
Thus when the villain crams his chest
Gold is the canker of the breast;
Tis av'rice, insolence, and pride,
And ev'ry shocking vice beside.
But when to virtuous hands 'tis given,
It blesses, like the dews of Heaven,
Like Heav'n, it hears the orphan's cries,
And wipes the tears from widows eyes.
The crimes on gold shall misers lay,
Who pawn'd their sordid souls for pay?
Let bravos then (when blood is spilt)
Upbraid the passive sword with guilt.
Fables VII.
The Lyon, the Fox and the Geese
A Lyon, tir'd with State affairs,
Quite sick of pomp, and worn with cares,
Resolv'd (remote from noise and strife)
In peace to pass his latter life.
It was proclaim'd; the day was set;
Behold the gen'ral council met.
The Fox was Viceroy nam'd. The croud
To the new Regent humbly bow'd:
Wolves, bears and mighty tygers bend,
And strive who most shall condescend.
He trait assumes a solemn grace,
Collects his wisdom in his face,
The croud admire his wit, his sense,
Each word hath weight and consequence;
The flatt'rer all his art displays:
He who hath power is sure of praise.
A fox stept forth before the rest,
And thus the servile throng addrest.
How vast his talents, born to rule,
And train'd in virtue's honest school!
What clemency his temper sways!
How uncorrupt are all his ways?
Beneath his conduct and command
Rapine shall cease to watte the land;
His brain hath stratagem and art,
Prudence and mercy rule his heart.
What blessings must attend the nation
Under this good administration!
He said. A Goose, who distant stood,
Harangu'd apart the cackling brood.
Whene'er I hear a knave commend,
He bids me shun his worthy friend.
What praise! what mighty commendation!
But 'twas a fox who spoke th' oration.
Foxes this government may prize
As gentle, plentiful and wise;
If they enjoy these sweets, 'tis plain,
We geese must feel a tyrant reign.
What havock now shall thin our race!
When ev'ry petty clerk in place,
To prove his taste, and seem polite,
Will feed on geese both noon and night.
Fable VIII.
The Lady and the Wesp
What whispers must the Beauty bear!
What hourly nonsense haunts her ear!
Where-e'er her eyes dispense their charms
Impertinence around her swarms.
Did not the tender nonsense strike,
Contempt and scorn might look dislike,
Forbidding airs might thin the place,
The slightest flap a fly can chase.
But who can drive the num'rous breed?
Chase one, another will succeed.
Who knows a fool, must know his brother;
One fop will recommend another;
And with this plague she's rightly curst,
Because me listen'd to the first.
As Doris at her toilette's duty,
Sate meditating on her beauty,
She now was pensive, now was gay,
And loll'd the sultry hours away.
As thus in indolence she lyes,
A giddy wasp around her flies,
He now advances, now retires,
Now to her neck and cheek aspires;
Her fan in vain defends her charms,
Swift he returns, again alarms,
For by repulse he bolder grew,
Perch'd on her lip and sips the dew.
She frowns, she frets. Good Gods, she cries,
Protect me from these teazing flies!
Of all the plagues that heav'n hath sent
A wasp is most impertinent.
The hov'ring insect thus complain'd.
Am I then slighted, scorn'd, disdain'd?
Can such offence your anger wake?
'Twas beauty caus'd the bold mistake.
Those cherry lips that breathe perfume,
That cheek so ripe with youthful bloom
Made me with strong desire pursue
The fairest peach that ever grew.
Strike him not, Jenny, Doris cries,
Nor murder wasps, like vulgar flies,
For though he's free (to do him right)
The creature's civil and polite.
In ecstasies away he posts,
Where-e'er he came the favour boasts.
Brags how her sweetest tea he sips,
And shows the sugar on his lips.
The hint alarm'd the forward crew.
Sure of success away they flew;
They share the dainties of the day,
Round her with airy musick play,
And now they flutter, now they rest,
Now soar again, and skim her breast.
Nor were they banish'd, 'till she found
That wasps have stings, and felt the wound.
Fable IX.
The Bull and the Mastiff
Seek you to train your fav'rite boy?
Each caution, ev'ry care employ,
And ere you venture to confide,
Let his preceptor's heart be try'd;
Weigh well his manners, life, and scope,
On these depends thy future hope.
As on a time, in peaceful reign,
A Bull enjoy'd the flow'ry plain,
A Mastiff pass'd; inflam'd with ire,
His eye-balls shot indignant fire,
He foam'd, he rag'd with thirst of blood.
Spurning the ground the monarch stood,
And roar'd aloud. Suspend the fight,
In a whole skin, go, sleep to-night;
Or tell me, ere the battel rage,
What wrongs provoke thee to engage?
Is it ambition fires thy breast,
Or avarice that ne'er can rest?
From these alone unjustly springs
The world-destroying wrath of Kings.
The surly Mastiff thus returns,
Within my bosom glory burns.
Like heroes of eternal name,
Whom poets sing, I fight for fame:
The butcher's spirit-stirring mind
To daily war my youth inclin'd,
He train'd me to heroic deed,
Taught me to conquer or to bleed.
Curst dog, the Bull reply'd, no more
I wonder at thy thirst of gore,
For thou (beneath a butcher train'd,
Whose hands with cruelty are stain'd,
His daily murders in thy view,)
Must, like thy tutor, blood pursue.
Take then thy fate. With goring wound
At once he lifts him from the ground,
Aloft the sprawling hero flies,
Mangled he falls, he howls and dies.
Fable X.
The Elephant and the Bookseller
The man, who with undaunted toils
Sails unknown seas to unknown soils,
With various wonders feasts his sight:
What stranger wonders does he write!
We read, and in description view
Creatures which Adam never knew;
For, when we risque no contradiction,
It prompts the tongue to deal in fiction,
Those things that startle me or you,
I grant are strange; yet may be true.
Who doubts that elephants are found
For science and for sense renown'd?
Borri records their strength of parts,
Extent of thought, and skill in arts?
How they perform the law's decrees,
And save the state the hang-man's fees,
And how by travel understand
The language of another land.
Let those who question this report,
To Pliny's ancient page resort.
How learn'd was that sagacious breed!
Who now (like them) the greek can read!
As one of these, in days of yore,
Rummag'd a shop of learning o'er,
Not like our modern dealers, minding
Only the margin's breadth and binding;
A book his curious eye detains,
Where, with exactest care and pains,
Were ev'ry beast and bird portray'd,
That e'er the search of man survey'd.
Their natures and their powers were writ
With all the pride of human wit;
The page he with attention spread,
And thus remark'd on what he read.
Man with strong reason is endow'd;
A Beast scarce instinct is allow'd:
But let this author's worth be try'd,
'Tis plain that neither was his guide.
Can he discern the diff'rent natures,
And weigh the pow'r of other creatures,
Who by the partial work hath shown
He knows so little of his own?
How falsely is the spaniel drawn!
Did Man from him first learn to fawn?
A dog proficient in the trade!
He, the chief flatt'rer nature made!
Go, man, the ways of courts discern,
You'll find a spaniel still might learn.
How can the foxe's theft and plunder
Provoke his censure, or his wonder?
From courtiers tricks, and lawyers arts
The fox might well improve his parts.
The lyon, wolf, and tyger's brood
He curses, for their thirst of blood;
But is not man to man a prey?
Beasts kill for hunger, men for pay.
The Bookseller, who heard him speak,
And saw him turn a page of Greek,
Thought, what a genius have I found!
Then thus addrest with bow profound.
Learn'd Sir, if you'd employ your pen
Against the senseless sons of men.
Or write the history of Siam,
No man is better pay than I am;
Or, since you're learn'd in Greek, let's see
Something against the Trinity.
When wrinkling with a sneer his trunk,
Friend, quoth the Elephant, you're drunk;
E'en keep your money, and be wise;
Leave man on man to criticise,
For that you ne'er can want a pen
Among the senseless sons of men,
They unprovok'd will court the fray,
Envy's a sharper spur than pay,
No author ever spar'd a brother,
Wits are game-cocks to one another.
Fable XI.
The Peacock, the Turkey and Goose
In beauty faults conspicuous grow,
The smallest speck is seen on snow.
As near a barn, by hunger led,
A Peacock with the poultry fed;
All view'd him with an envious eye,
And mock'd his gaudy pageantry:
He, conscious of superior merit,
Contemns their base reviling spirit,
His state and dignity assumes,
And to the sun displays his plumes,
Which, like the heav'n's o'er-arching skies,
Are spangled with a thousand eyes;
The circling rays and varied light
At once confound their dazled sight,
On ev'ry tongue detraction burns,
And malice prompts their spleen by turns.
Mark, with what insolence and pride
The creature takes his haughty stride,
The Turkey cries. Can spleen contain?
Sure never bird was half so vain!
But were intrinsic merit seen,
We turkeys have the whiter skin.
From tongue to tongue they caught abuse;
And next was heard the hissing Goose.
What hideous legs! what filthy claws!
I scorn to censure little flaws.
Then what a horrid squawling throat!
Ev'n owls are frighted at the note.
True. Those are faults, the Peacock cries,
My scream, my shanks you may despise:
But such blind critics rail in vain.
What; overlook my radiant train!
Know, did my legs (your scorn and sport)
The turkey or the goose support,
And did ye scream with harsher sound,
Those faults in you had never been found;
To all apparent beauties blinds
Each blemish strikes an envious mind.
Thus in Assemblies have I seen
A nymph of brightest charms and mein
Wake envy in each ugly face;
And buzzing scandal fills the place.
Fable XII.
Cupid, Hymnen and Plutus
As Cupid in Cythera's grove
Employ'd the lesser powers of love,
Some shape the bow, or fit the string,
Some give the taper shaft its wing,
Or turn the polish'd quiver's mold,
Or head the darts with temper'd gold.
Amidst their toil and various care,
Thus Hymen, with assuming air,
Addrest the God. Thou purblind chit,
Of aukward and ill-judging wit,
If matches are no better made,
At once I must forswear my trade.
You send me such ill-coupled folks,
That 'tis a shame to sell them yokes.
They squabble for a pin, a feather,
And wonder how they came together.
The husband's sullen, dogged, shy,
The wife grows flippant in reply;
He loves command and due restriction,
And she as well likes contradiction;
She never slavishly submits,
She'll have her will, or have her fits,
He this way tugs, the t'other draws,
The man grows jealous, and with cause,
Nothing can save him but divorce,
And here the wife complies of course.
When, says the Boy, had I to do
With either your affairs or you?
I never idly spend my darts;
You trade in mercenary hearts:
For settlements the lawyer's fee'd;
Is my hand witness to the Deed?
If they like cat and dog agree,
Go rail at Plutus, not at me.
Plutus appear'd, and said; Tis true,
In marriage, gold is all their view;
They seek not beauty, wit or sense,
And love is seldom the pretence.
All offer incense at my shrine,
And I alone the bargain sign.
How can Belinda blame her fate?
She only ask'd a great estate.
Doris was rich enough, 'tis true,
Her Lord must give her title too;
And ev'ry man, or rich or poor,
A fortune asks, and asks no more.
Av'rice, whatever shape it bears,
Must still be coupled with its cares.
Fable XIII.
The tame Stag
As a young Stag the thicket past,
The branches held his antlers fast,
A clown, who saw the captive hung,
Across the horns his halter flung.
Now, safely hamper'd in the cord,
He bore the present to his lord:
His lord was pleased: as was the clown,
When he was tipt with half-a-crown.
The Stag was brought before his wife.
The tender lady begg'd his life.
How sleek's the skin! how speck'd like ermine!
Sure never creature was so charming!
At first within the yard confin'd,
He flies and hides from all mankind;
Now bolder grown, with fixt amaze
And distant awe presumes to gaze,
Munches the linnen on the lines,
And on a hood or apron dines;
He steals my little master's bread,
Follows the servants to be fed,
Nearer and nearer now he stands,
To feel the praise of patting hands,
Examines every fist for meat,
And though repuls'd disdains retreat,
Attacks again with leyell'd horns,
And man, that was his terror, scorns.
Such is the country maiden's fright,
When first a red-coat is in sight,
Behind the door she hides her face,
Next time at distance eyes the lace,
She now can all his terrors stand,
Nor from his squeeze withdraws her hand;
She plays familiar in his arms,
And ev'ry soldier hath his charms;
From tent to tent she spreads her flame:
For custom conquers fear and shame.
Fable XIV.
The Monkey who had seen the World
A Monkey, to reform the times,
Resolv'd to visit foreign climes;
For men in distant regions roam
To bring politer manners home:
So forth he fares, all toil defies:
Misfortune serves to make us wise.
At length the treacherous snare was laid,
Poor Pug was caught, to town convey'd,
There sold; (How envy'd was his doom,
Made captive in a lady's room!)
Proud as a lover of his chains,
He day by day her favour gains,
Whene'er the duty of the day,
The toilette calls; with mimic play
He twirles her knots, he cracks her fan,
Like any other gentleman.
In visits too his parts and wit,
When jests grew dull, were sure to hit.
Proud with applause, he thought his mind
In ev'ry courtly art refin'd,
Like Orpheus burnt with publick zeal,
To civilize the monkey weal;
So watch'd occasion, broke his chain,
And sought his native woods again.
The hairy sylvans round him press,
Astonish'd at his strut and dress,
Some praise his sleeve, and others glote
Upon his rich embroider'd coat,
His dapper perriwig commending
With the black tail behind depending,
His powder'd back, above, below,
Like hoary frosts, or fleecy snow;
But all, with envy and desire,
His flutt'ring shoulder-knot admire.
Hear and improve, he pertly cries,
I come to make a nation wise;
Weigh your own worth; support your place,
The next in rank to human race.
In cities long I passed my days,
Convers'd with men, and learnt their ways:
Their dress, their courtly manners see;
Reform your state, and copy me.
Seek ye to thrive? In flatt'ry deal,
Your scorn, your hate, with that conceal;
Seem only to regard your friends,
But use them for your private ends,
Stint not to truth the flow of wit,
Be prompt to be, whene'er 'tis fit;
Bend all your force to spatter merit;
Scandal is conversation's spirit;
Boldly to ev'ry thing pretend,
And men your talents shall commend;
I knew the Great. Observe me right,
So shall you grow like man polite.
He spoke and bow'd. With mutt'ring jaws
The wondring circle grinn'd applause.
Now warm with malice, envy, spite,
Their most obliging friends they bite,
And fond to copy human ways,
Practise new mischiefs all their days.
Thus the dull lad, too tall for school,
With travel finishes the fool,
Studious of ev'ry coxcomb's ains
He drinks, games, dresses, whores and swears
O'erlooks with scorn all virtuous arts,
For vice is fitted to his parts.
Fable XV.
The Philosopher and the Pheasants
The Sage, awak'd at early day,
Through the deep forest took his way;
Drawn by the musick of the groves,
Along the winding gloom he roves;
From tree to tree, the warbling throats
Prolong the sweet alternate notes.
But where he past he terror threw,
The song broke short, the warblers flew,
The thrushes chatter'd with affright,
And nightingales abhorr'd his sight;
All animals before him ran
To shun the hateful sight of man.
Whence is this dread of ev'ry creature?
Fly they our figure or our nature?
As thus he walk'd in musing thought,
His ear imperfect accents caught;
With cautious step he nearer drew,
By the thick shade conceal'd from view
High on the branch a Pheasant stood,
Around her all her list'ning brood,
Proud of the blessings of her nest,
She thus a mother's care exprest.
No dangers here shall circumvent,
Within the woods enjoy content.
Sooner the hawk or vulture trust
Than man; of animals the worst;
In him ingratitude you find,
A vice peculiar to the kind.
The sheep, whose annual fleece is dy'd,
To guard his health, and serve his pride,
Forc'd from his fold and native plain,
Is in the cruel shambles slain.
The swarms, who, with industrious skill,
His hives with wax and ho hey fill,
In vain whole summer days employ'd,
Their stores are sold, the race destroy'd.
What tribute from the goose is paid!
Does not her wing all science aid?
Does it not lovers hearts explain,
And drudge to raise the merchant's gain?
What now rewards this general use?
He takes the quills and eats the goose.
Man then avoid, detest his ways,
So safety shall prolong your days.
When services are thus acquitted,
Be sure we pheasants must be spitted.
Fable XVI.
The Pin and the Needle
A Pin who long had serv'd a Beauty,
Proficient in the toilette's duty,
Had form'd her sleeve, confin'd her hair,
Or giv'n her knot a smarter air,
Now nearest to her heart was plac'd,
Now in her manteau's tail disgrac'd;
But could the partial fortune blame,
Who saw her lovers served the same?
At length from all her honours cast,
Through various turns of life the past;
Now glitter'd on a taylor's arm,
Now kept a beggar's infant warm,
Now, rang'd within a miser's coat,
Contributes to his yearly groat,
Now, rais'd again from low approach,
She visits in the doctor's coach;
Here, there, by various fortune tost,
At last in Gresham hall was lost.
Charm'd with the wonders of the show,
On ev'ry side, above, below,
She now of this or that enquires,
What least was understood admires;
Tis plain, each thing so struck her mind,
Her head's of virtuoso kind.
And pray what's this and this, dear sir?
A needle, says th' interpreter.
She knew the name. And thus the fool
Address her as a taylor's tool.
A needle with that filthy stone,
Quite idle, all with rust o'ergrown!
You better might employ your parts,
And aid the sempstress in her arts.
But tell me how the friendship grew
Between that paultry flint and you?
Friend, says the Needle, cease to blame;
I follow real worth and fame.
Know'st thou the loadstone's power and art,
That virtue virtues can impart?
Of all his talents I partake.
Who then can such a friend forsake?
'Tis I direct the pilot's hand
To shun the rocks and treach'rous sand;
By me the distant world is known,
And either India is our own.
Had I with milliners been bred,
What had I been? the guide of thread,
And drudg'd as vulgar needles do,
Of no more consequence than you.
Fable XVII.
The Shepherd's Dog and the Wolf
A Wolf, with hunger fierce and bold,
Ravag'd the plains and thinn'd the fold:
Deep in the wood secure he lay,
The thefts of night regal'd the day;
In vain the shepherd's wakeful care
Had spread the toils and watch'd the snare,
In vain the dog pursu'd his pace,
The fleeter robber mock'd the chase.
As Lightfoot rang'd the forest round,
By chance his foe's retreat he found.
Let us awhile the war suspend,
And reason as from friend to friend.
A truce, replies the Wolf? 'Tis done.
The Dog the parley thus begun.
How can that strong intrepid mind
Attack a weak defenceless kind?
Those jaws should prey on nobler food,
And drink the boar's and lyon's blood;
Great souls with generous pity melt,
Which coward tyrants never felt:
How harmless is our fleecy care!
Be brave, and let thy mercy spare.
Friend, says the Wolf, the matter weigh.
Nature designed us beasts of prey,
As such, when hunger finds a treat,
'Tis necessary wolves should eat.
If mindful of the bleating weal,
Thy bosom burn with real zeal,
Hence, and thy tyrant lord beseech,
To him repeat the moving speech;
A wolf eats sheep but now and then,
Ten thousands are devour'd by men.
An open foe may prove a curse,
But a pretended friend is worse.
Fable XVIII.
The Painter who pleased No body and
Every body
Lest men suspect your tale untrue,
Keep probability in view.
The trav'ler, leaping o'er those bounds,
The credit of his book confounds;
Who with his tongue hath armies routed
Makes ev'n his real courage doubted.
But flatt'ry never seems absurd,
The flatter'd always take your word,
Impossibilities seem just,
They take the strongest praise on trust;
Hyperboles, though ne'er so great,
Will still come short of self-conceit.
So very like a Painter drew,
That ev'ry eye the picture knew;
He hit complexion, feature, air,
So just, the life itself was there.
No flatt'ry, with his colours laid,
To bloom restor'd the faded maid,
He gave each muscle all its strength,
The mouth, the chin, the nose's length
His honest pencil touch'd with truth,
And mark'd the date of age and youth.
He lost his friends, his practice fail'd,
Truth should not always be reveal'd;
In dusty piles his pictures lay,
For no one sent the second pay.
Two bustos, fraught with ev'ry grace,
A Venus' and Apollo's face,
He plac'd in view; resolv'd to please,
Whoever fate, he drew from these,
From these corrected ev'ry feature,
And spirited each aukward creature.
All things were, set; the hour was come,
His pallet ready o'er his thumb,
My lord appear'd, and seated right
In proper attitude and light,
The Painter look'd, he sketch'd the piece,
Then dipt his pencil, talk'd of Greece,
Of Titian's tints, of Guido's air;
Those eyes, my lord, the spirit there
Might well a Raphael's hand require,
To give them all the native fire;
The features fraught with sense and wit
You'll grant are very hard to hit,
But yet with patience you shall view
As much as paint and art can do.
Observe the work. My lord reply'd,
Till now I thought my mouth was wide,
Besides, my nose is somewhat long,
Dear sir, for me, 'tis far too young.
Oh, pardon me, the artist cry'd,
In this we painters must decide.
The piece ev'n common eyes must strike,
I warrant it extreamly like.
My lord examin'd it anew;
No looking-glass seem'd half so true.
A lady came, with borrow'd grade
He from his Venus form'd her face,
Her lover prais'd the painter's art;
So like the picture in his heart!
To ev'ry age some charm he lent,
Ev'n Beauties were almost content.
Through all the town his art they prais'd,
His custom grew, his price was rais'd.
Had he the real likeness shown,
Would any man the picture own?
But when thus happily he wrought,
Each found the likeness in his thought.
Fable XIX.
The Lyon and the Cub
How fond are men of rule and place,
Who court it from the mean and base!
These cannot bear an equal nigh,
But from superior merit fly;
They love the cellar's vulgar joke,
And lose their hours in ale and smoak;
There o'er some petty club president,
So poor, so paultry is their pride!
Nay, ev'n with fools whole nights will sit,
In hopes to be supream in wit.
If these can read, to these I write,
To set their worth in truest light.
A Lyon-cub, of sordid mind,
Avoided all the lyon kind;
Fond of applause, he sought the feasts
Of vulgar and ignoble beasts,
With asses all his time he spent,
Their club's perpetual president.
He caught their manners, looks and airs:
An ass in ev'ry thing, but ears!
If e'er his highness meant a joke,
They grinn'd applause before he spoke;
But at each word what shouts of praise!
Good Gods! how natural he brays!
Elate with flatt'ry and conceit,
He seeks his royal fire's retreat;
Forwards and fond to show his parts,
His highness brays, the Lyon starts.
Puppy, that curst vociferation
Betrays thy life and conversation;
Coxcombs, an ever-noisy race,
Are trumpets of their own disgrace.
Why so severe, the Cub replies?
Our senate always held me wife.
How weak is pride, returns the Sire,
All fools are vain, when fools admire!
But know, what stupid asses prize,
Lyons and noble beasts despise.
Fable XX.
The old Hen and the Cock
Restrain your child; you'll dis believe
The text, which says, we sprung from Eve.
As an old Hen led forth her train,
And seem'd to peck to show the grain;
She rak'd the chaff, she scratched the ground;
And glean'd the spacious yard around.
A giddy chick, to try her wings,
On the well's narrow margin springs,
And prone she drops. The mother's breast
All day with sorrow was possest.
A Cock she met; her son she knew;
And in her heart affection grew.
My son, says she, I grant your years
Have reach'd beyond a mother's cares;
I see you vig'rous, strong and bold,
I hear with joy your triumphs told;
Tis not from cocks thy fate I dread:
But let thy ever-wary tread
Avoid yon well; that fatal place
Is sure perdition to our race
Print this my counsel on thy breast;
To the just Gods I leave the rest.
He thank'd her care; yet day by day
His bosom burn'd to disobey,
And every time the well he saw
Scorn'd in his heart the foolish law;
Near and more near each day he drew,
And long'd to try the dang'rous view.
Why was this idle charge? he cries:
Let courage female fears despise.
Or did she doubt my heart was brave,
And therefore this injunction gave?
Or does her harvest store the place,
A treasure for her younger race?
And would she thus my search prevent?
I stand resolv'd, and dare th' event.
Thus said. He mounts the margin's round,
And pries into the depth profound.
He stretched his neck; and from below,
With stretching neck advanc'd a foe;
With wrath his ruffled plumes he rears,
The foe with ruffled plumes appears;
Threat answer'd threat, his fury grew,
Headlong to meet the war he flew;
But when the watry death he found,
He thus lamented, as he drown'd.
I ne'er had been in this condition
But for my mother's prohibition.
Fable XXI.
The Rat-Catcher and Cats
The rats by night such mischief did,
Betty was ev'ry morning child:
They undermin'd whole sides of bacon,
Her cheese was sapp'd, her tarts were taken,
Her pasties, fenc'd with thickest paste,
Were all demo and laid waste.
She curst the cat for want of duty,
Who left her foes a constant booty.
An Engineer, of noted skill,
Engag'd to stop the growing ill.
From room to room he now surveys
Their haunts, their works, their secret ways,
Finds where they 'scape an ambuscade,
And whence the nightly sally's made.
An envious Cat, from place to place,
Unseen, attends his silent pace,
She saw that, if his trade went on,
The purring race must be undone,
So, secretly removes his baits,
And ev'ry stratagem defeats.
Again he sets the poyson'd toils,
And pass again the labour foils.
What foe (to frustrate my designs)
My schemes thus nightly countermines?
Incens'd, he cries: this very hour
The wretch shall bleed beneath my power.
So said. A pond'rous trap he brought,
And in the fact poor puss was caught.
Smuggler, says he, thou shalt be made
A victim to our loss of trade.
The captive Cat with piteous mews
For pardon, life and freedom sues.
A sister of the science spare,
One interest is our common care.
What insolence! the man reply'd,
Shall cats with us the game divide?
Were all your interloping band
Extinguish'd, or expell'd the land,
We rat-catchers might raise our fees,
Sole guardians of a nation's cheese!
A Cat, who saw the lifted knife,
Thus spoke, and saved her sister's life.
In ev'ry age and clime we see,
Two of a trade can ne'er agree,
Each hates his neighbour for encroaching;
Squire stigmatizes squire for poaching;
Beauties with beauties are in arms,
And scandal pelts each other's charms;
Kings too their neighbour kings dethrone,
In hope to make the world their own.
But let us limit our desires,
Not war like beauties, kings and squires,
For though we both one prey pursue,
There's game enough for us and you.
Fable XXII.
The Goat without a beard
'Tis certain, that the modish passions
Descend among the crowd, like fashions.
Excuse me then; if pride, conceit,
(The manners of the fair and great)
I give to monkeys, asses, dogs,
Fleas, owls, goats, butterflys and hogs.
I say, that these are proud. What then?
I never said, they equal men.
A Goat (as vain as goat can be)
Affected singularity:
Whene'er a thy my bank he found,
He roll'd upon the fragrant ground,
And then with fond attention stood,
Fix'd, o'er his image in the flood.
I hate my frowzy beard, he cries;
My youth is lost in this disguise,
Did not the females know my vigour,
Well might they loath this rev'rend figure.
Resolv'd to smooth his shaggy face,
He sought the barber of the place.
A flippant monkey, spruce and smart,
Hard by, profest the dapper art;
His pole with pewter basons hung,
Black rotten teeth in order strung,
Rang'd cups, that in the window stood,
Lin'd with red rags, to look like blood,
Did well his threefold trade explain,
Who shav'd, drew teeth, and breath'd a vein.
The Goat he welcomes with an air,
And seats him in his wooden chair,
Mouth, nose and cheek the lather hides,
Light, smooth and swift the razor glides.
I hope your custom, Sir, says pug.
Sure never face was half so smug!
The Goat, impatient for applause,
Swift to the neighb'ring hill withdraws;
The shaggy people grinn'd and star'd.
Heighday! what's here? without a beard!
Say, brother, whence the dire disgrace?
What envious hand hath robb'd your face?
When thus the fop with smiles of scorn.
Are beards by civil nations worn?
Ev'n Muscovites have mow'd their chins.
Shall we, like formal Capucins,
Stubborn in pride, retain the mode,
And bear about the hairy load?
Whene'er we through the village stray,
Are we not mock'd along the way,
Insulted with loud shouts of scorn,
By boys our beards disgrac'd and torn?
Were you no more with goats to dwell,
Brother, I grant you reason well,
Replies a bearded chief. Beside,
If boys can mortify thy pride,
How wilt thou stand the ridicule
Of our whole flock? affected fool!
Coxcombs, distinguish'd from the rest,
To all but coxcombs are a jest.
Fable XXIII.
The old Woman and her Cats
Who friendship with a knave hath made
Is judg'd a partner in the trade.
The matron, who conducts abroad
A willing nymph, is thought a bawd;
And if a modest girl is seen
With one who cures a lover's spleen,
We guess her, not extreamly nice,
And only wish to know her price.
'Tis thus, that on the choice of friends
Our good or evil name depends.
A wrinkled hag, of wicked fame,
Beside a little smoaky flame
Sate hov'ring, pinch'd with age and frost;
Her shrivell'd hands, with veins embost,
Upon her knees her weight sustains,
While palsie shook her crazy brains;
She mumbles forth her backward prayers,
An untam'd scold of fourscore years.
About her swarm'd a num'rous brood
Of Cats, who lank with hunger mew'd.
Teaz'd with their cries her choler grew,
And thus she sputter'd. Hence, ye crew.
Fool that I was, to entertain
Such imps, such fiends, a hellish train!
Had ye been never hous'd and nurst,
I, for a witch, had ne'er been curst.
To you I owe, that crouds of boys
Worry me with eternal noise;
Straws laid across my pace retard,
The horse-shoe's nail'd (each threshold's guard)
The stunted broom the wenches hide,
For fear that I should up and ride;
They stick with pins my bleeding seat,
And bid me show my secret teat.
To hear you prate would vex a saint,
Who hath most reason of complaint?
Replies a Cat. Let's come to proof.
Had we ne'er starv'd beneath your roof,
We had, like others of our race,
In credit liv'd, as beasts of chace.
Tis infamy to serve a hag;
Cats are thought imps, her broom a nag;
And boys against our lives combine,
Because, 'tis said, your cats have nine.
Fable XXIV.
The Butterfly and the Snail
All upstarts, insolent in place,
Remind us of their vulgar race.
As, in the sun-shine of the morn,
A Butterfly (but newly born)
Sate proudly perking on a rose;
With pert conceit his bosom glows,
His wings (all glorious to behold)
Bedropt with azure, jet and gold,
Wide he displays; the spangled dew
Reflects his eyes and various hue.
His now forgotten friend, a Snail,
Beneath his house, with slimy trail
Crawles o'er the grass; whom when he spies,
In wrath he to thegard'ner cries:
What means yon peasant's daily toil,
From choaking weeds to rid the soil?
Why wake you to the morning's care?
Why with new arts correct the year?
Why glows the peach with crimson hue?
And why the plum's inviting blue?
Were they to feast his taste design'd,
That vermine of voracious kind?
Crush then the slow, the pilfring race,
So purge thy garden from disgrace.
What arrogance! the Snail reply'd;
How insolent is upstart pride!
Hadst thou not thus, with insult vain,
Provok'd my patience to complaint
I had conceal'd thy meaner birth,
Nor trac'd thee to the scum of earth.
For scarce nine suns have wak'd the hours,
To swell the fruit and paint the flowers,
Since I thy humbler life survey'd,
In base, in sordid guise array'd;
A hideous insect, vile, unclean,
You dragg'd a slow and noisome train,
And from your spider bowels drew
Foul film, and spun the dirty clue.
I own my humble life, good friend;
Snail was I born, and snail shall end.
And what's a butterfly? At best,
He's but a caterpillar, drest:
And all thy race (a num'rous seed)
shall prove of caterpillar breed.
Fable XXV.
The Scold and the Parrot
The husband thus reproved his wife.
Who deals in slander, lives in strife.
Art thou the herald of disgrace,
Denouncing war to all thy race?
Can nothing quell thy thunder's rage,
Which spares nor friend, nor sex, nor age?
That vixen tongue of yours, my dear,
Alarms our neighbours far and near;
Good Gods! 'tis like a rolling river,
That murm'ring flows, and flows for ever!
Ne'er tir'd, perpetual discord sowing!
Like fame, it gathers strength by going.
Heighday! the flippant tongue replies,
How solemn is the fool! how wise!
Is nature's choicest gift debarr'd?
Nay, frown not; for I will be heard.
Women of late are finely ridden,
A parrot's privilege forbidden!
You praise his talk, his squawling song,
But wives are always in the wrong.
Now reputations flew in pieces
Of mothers, daughters, aunts and neices,
She ran the parrot's language o'er;
Bawd, hussy, drunkard, slattern, whore,
On all the sex she vents her fury,
Tries and condemns without a jury.
At once the torrent of her words
Alarm'd cat, monkey, dogs and birds;
All join their forces to confound her,
Puss spits, the monkey chatters round her,
The yelping cur her heels assaults,
The magpye blabs out all her faults;
Poll in the uproar, from his cage,
With this rebuke out-scream'd her rage.
A parrot is for talking priz'd,
But prattling women are despis'd;
She, who attacks another's honour,
Draws ev'ry living thing upon her.
Think, madam, when you stretch your lungs,
That all your neighbours too have tongues;
One slander must ten thousand get,
The world with interest pays the debt.