Fable XXVI.
The Cur and the Mastiff
A Sneaking Cur, the master's spy,
Rewarded for his daily lye,
With secret jealousies and fears
Set all together by the ears,
Poor puss to-day was in disgrace,
Another cat supply'd her place;
The hound was beat, the mastiff chid,
The monkey was the room forbid,
Each to his dearest friend grew shy,
And none could tell the reason why.
A plan to rob the house was laid;
The thief with love seduc'd the maid,
Cajol'd the Cur, and stroked his head,
And bought his secresy with bread.
He next the Mastiff's honour try'd,
Whose honest jaws the bribe defy'd;
He stretch'd his hand to proffer more;
The surly dog his fingers tore.
Swift ran the Cur; with indignation
The master took his information.
Hang him, the villain's curst, he cries,
And round his neck the halter ties.
The Dog his humble suit preferr'd,
And begg'd in justice to be heard.
The master sat. On either hand
The cited dogs confronting stand;
The Cur the bloody tale relates,
And, like a lawyer, aggravates.
Judge not unheard, the Mastiff cry'd,
But weigh the cause of either side.
Think not that treach'ry can be just,
Take not informers words on trust;
They ope their hand to ev'ry pay;
And you and me by turns betray.
He spoke. And all the truth appear'd.
The Cur was hang'd, the Mastiff clear'd.
Fable XXVII.
The sick Man and the Angel
Is there no hope? the sick man said.
The silent doctor shook his head,
And took his leave, with signs of sorrow,
Despairing of his fee to-morrow.
When thus the Man, with gasping breathe.
I feel the chilling wound of death.
Since I must bid the world adieu:
Let me my former life review.
I grant, my bargains well were made.
But all men over-reach in trade;
'Tis self defence in each profession,
Sure self-defence is no transgression.
The little portion in my hands,
By good security on lands,
Is well encreas'd. If unawares,
My justice to my self and heirs,
Hath let my debtor rot in jail,
For want of good sufficient bail;
If I by writ, or bond, or deed
Reduc'd a family to need,
My will hath made the world amends;
My hope on charity depends.
When I am number'd with the dead,
And all my pious gifts are read,
By heav'n and earth 'twill then be known
My charities were amply shown.
An Angel came. Ah friend, he cry'd,
No more in flatt'ring hope confide.
Can thy good deeds in former times
Outweigh the ballance of thy crimes?
What widow or what orphan prays
To crown thy life with length of days?
A pious action's in thy power,
Embrace with joy the happy hour;
Now, while you draw the vital air,
Prove your intention is sincere:
This instant give a hundred pound;
Your neighbours want, and you abound.
But why such haste, the sick Man whines,
Who knows as yet what Heav'n designs?
Perhaps I may recover still.
That sum and more are in my will.
Fool, says the Vision, now 'tis plain,
Your life, your soul, your heav'n was gain;
From ev'ry side, with all your might,
You scrap'd, and scrap'd beyond your right,
And after death would fain attone,
By giving what is not your own.
While there is life, there's hope, he cry'd;
Then why such haste? so groan'd and dy'd.
Fable XXVIII.
The Persian, the Sun and the Cloud
Is there a bard whom genius fires,
Whose ev'ry thought the God inspires?
When Envy reads the nervous lines,
She frets, she rails, she raves, she pines,
Her hissing snakes with venom swell,
She calls her venal train from hell.
The servile fiends her nod obey,
And all Curl's authors are in pay.
Fame calls up calumny and spite.
Thus Shadow owes its birth to light.
As prostrate to the God of day
With heart devout a Persian lay;
His invocation thus begun.
Parent of light, all-feeing Sun,
Prolific beam, whose rays dispense
The various gifts of Providence,
Accept our praise, our daily prayer,
Smile on our fields and bless the year.
A Cloud, who mock'd his grateful tongue,
The day with sudden darkness hung,
With pride and envy swell'd, aloud
A voice thus thunder'd from the cloud.
Weak is this gawdy God of thine,
Whom I at will forbid to shine;
Shall I nor vows, nor incense know?
Where praise is due the praise bestow.
With fervent zeal the Persian mov'd
Thus the proud calumny reprov'd.
It was that God, who claims my prayer,
Who gave thee birth and rais'd thee there:
When o'er his beams the veil is thrown
Thy substance is but plainer shown.
A palling gale, a puff of wind
Dispells thy thickest troops combin'd.
The gale arose; the vapor tost
(The sport of winds) in air was lost;
The glorious orb the day refines.
Thus Envy breaks, thus Merit lines.
Fable XXIX.
The Fox at the point od death
A Fox, in life's extream decay,
Weak, sick and faint, expiring lay;
All appetite had left his maw,
And age disarm'd his mumbling jaw.
His num'rous race around him stand
To learn their dying fire's command;
He rais'd his head with whining moan,
And thus was heard the feeble tone.
Ah sons, from evil ways depart,
My crimes lye heavy on my heart.
See, see, the murder'd geese appear!
Why are those bleeding turkeys there?
Why all around this cackling train,
Who haunt my ears for chicken stain?
The hungry foxes round them star'd,
And for the promis'd feast prepar'd.
Where, Sir, is all this dainty cheer?
Nor turkey, goose, nor hen is here:
These are the phantoms of your brain,
And your sons lick their lips in vain.
O gluttons, says the drooping sire;
Retrain inordinate desire;
Your liqu'rish taste you shall deplore,
When peace of conscience is no more.
Does not the hound betray our pace,
And gins and guns destroy our race?
Thieves dread the searching eye of power,
And never feel the quiet hour.
Old-age, (which few of us shall know)
Now puts a period to my woe,
Would you true happiness attain,
Let honesty your passions rein;
So live in credit and esteem,
And, the good-name you lost, redeem.
The counsel's good, a fox replies,
Could we perform what you advise.
Think, what our ancestors have done;
A line of thieves from son to son;
To us descends the long disgrace,
And infamy hath mark'd our race.
Though we, like harmless sheep, should feed,
Honest in thought, in word, and deed,
Whatever hen-roost is decreas'd,
We shall be thought to share the feast.
The change shall never be believ'd,
A lost good-name is ne'er retriev'd.
Nay then, replies the feeble fox,
(But, hark! I hear a hen that clocks)
Go, but be mod'rate in your food;
A chicken too might do me good.
Fable XXX.
The Setting-Dog and the Partridge
The ranging Dog the stubble tries,
And searches ev'ry breeze that flies;
The scent grows warm; with cautious fear
He creeps, and points the covey near.
The men in silence, far behind,
Conscious of game, the net unbind.
A Partridge, with experience wise,
The fraudful preparation spies,
She mocks their toils, alarms her brood,
The covey springs, and seeks the wood;
But ere her certain wing she tries,
Thus to the creeping spaniel cries.
Thou fawning slave to map's deceit,
Thou pimp of lux'ry, sneaking cheat,
Of thy whole species thou disgrace,
Dogs should disown thee of their race!
For if I judge their native parts,
They're born with honest open hearts,
And, ere they servid man's wicked ends,
Were gen'rous foes or real friends.
When thus the Dog with scornful smile.
Secure of wing'thou dar'st revile.
Clowns are to polish'd manners blind;
How ign'rant is the rustick mind!
My worth sagacious courtiers see,
And to preferment rise like me.
The thriving pimp, who beauty sets,
Hath oft' enhanc'd a nation's debts;
Friend sets his friend, without regard;
And ministers his skill reward.
Thus train'd by man, I learnt his ways,
And growing favour feasts my days.
I might have guess'd, the Partridge said,
The place where you were train'd and fed;
Servants are apt, and in a trice
Ape to a hair their mailer's vice.
You came from court, you say. Adieu,
She said, and to the covey flew.
Fable XXXI.
The universal Apparition
A Rake, by ev'ry passion rul'd,
With ev'ry vice his youth had cool'd;
Disease his tainted blood assails,
His spirits droop, his vigor fails,
With secret ills at home he pines,
And, like infirm old-age, declines.
As, twing'd with pain, he pensive sits,
And raves, and prays, and swears by fits,
A ghastly phantome, lean and wan,
Before him rose, and thus began.
My name perhaps hath reach'd your ear;
Attend, and be advis'd by Care.
Nor love, nor honour, wealth nor power
Can give the heart a cheerful hour,
When health is lost. Be timely wise:
With health all taste of pleasure flies.
Thus said, the phantome disappears,
The wary counsel wak'd his fears;
He now from all excess abstains,
With physick purifies his veins;
And to procure a sober life
Resolves to venture on a wife.
But now again the sprite ascends,
Where'er he walks his ear attends,
Insinuates that beauty's frail,
That perseverance must prevail.
With jealousies his brain inflames,
And whispers all her lovers names;
In other hours she represents
His houlhold charge, his annual rents,
Encreasing debts, perplexing duns,
And nothing for his younger sons.
Strait all his thought to gain he turns,
And with the thirst of lucre burns;
But when possest of fortune's store,
The spectre haunts him more and more,
Sets want and misery in view,
Bold thieves and all the murd'ring crew,
Alarms him with eternal frights,
Infests his dream, or wakes his nights.
How shall he chase this hideous guest?
Power may perhaps protect his rest?
To pow'r he rose. Again the sprite
Besets him morning, noon and night.
Talks of ambition's tott'ring seat,
How envy persecutes the great,
Of rival hate, of treach'rous friends,
And what disgrace his fall attends.
The court he quits to fly from Care,
And seeks the peace of rural air;
His groves, his fields amus'd his hours,
He prun'd his trees, he rais'd his flowers;
But Care again his steps pursues,
Warns him of blasts, of blighting dews,
Of plund'ring insects, snails and rains,
And droughts that starve the labour'd plains.
Abroad, at home, the spectre's there:
In vain we seek to fly from Care.
At length he thus the ghost addrest.
Since thou must be my constant guest,
Be kind, and follow me no more,
For Care by right should go before.
Fable XXXII.
The two Owls and the Sparrow
Two formal Owls together sate,
Conferring thus in solemn chat.
How is the modern taste decay'd!
Where's the respect to wisdom paid?
Our worth the Grecian sages knew,
They gave our sires the honour due,
They weigh'd the dignity of fowls,
And pry'd into the depth of owls.
Athens, the seat of learned fame,
With general voice rever'd our name;
On merit title was conferred,
And all ador'd th' Athenian bird.
Brother, you reason well, replies
The solemn mate, with half-shut eyes;
Right. Athens was the seat of learning,
And truly wisdom is discerning.
Besides, on Pallas' helm we sit,
The type and ornament of wit:
But now, alas, we're quite neglected,
And a pert sparrow's more rejected.
A Sparrow, who was lodg'd beside,
O'erhears them sooth each other's pride,
And thus he nimbly vents his heat.
Who meets a fool must find conceit.
I grant, you were at Athens grac'd,
And on Minerva's helm were plac'd,
But ev'ry bird that wings the sky,
Except an owl, can tell you why.
From hence they taught their schools to know
How false we judge by outward show,
That we should never looks esteem,
Since fools as wise as you might seem.
Would ye contempt and scorn avoid,
Let your vain-glory be destroy'd;
Humble your arrogance of thought,
Pursue the ways by nature taught,
So shall ye find delicious fare,
And grateful farmers praise your care,
So shall sleek mice your chase reward,
And no keen cat find more regard.
Fable XXXIII.
The Courtier and Proteus
Whene'er a courtiers out of place,
The country shelters his disgrace;
Where, doom'd to exercise and health,
His house and gardens own his wealth.
He builds new schemes, in hope to gain
The plunder of another reign;
Like Philip's son would fain be doing,
And sighs for other realms to ruin.
As one of these (without his wand)
Pensive, along the winding strand
Employ'd the solitary hour
In projects to regain his power;
The waves in spreading circles ran,
Proteus arose, and thus began.
Came you from court? For in your mein
A self-important air is seen.
He frankly own'd his friends had trick'd him,
And how he fell his party's victim.
Know, says the God, by matchless skill
I change to ev'ry shape at will;
But yet, I'm told, at court you fee
Those who presume to rival me.
Thus said. A snake, with hideous trail,
Proteus extends his scaly mail.
Know, says the Man, though proud in place,
All courtiers are of reptile race.
Like you, they take that dreadful form,
Bask in the sun, and fly the storm;
With malice hits, with envy glote,
And for convenience change their coat,
With new-got lustre rear their head,
Though on a dunghill born and bred.
Sudden the God a lyon stands,
He shakes his mane, he spurns the sands;
Now a fierce lynx, with fiery glare,
A wolf, an ass, a fox, a bear.
Had I ne'er liv'd at court, he cries,
Such transformation might surprise;
But there, in quest of daily game,
Each able courtier acts the same.
Wolves, lyons, lynxes, while in place,
Their friends and fellows are their chace;
They play the bear's and fox's part,
Now rob by force, now steal with art;
They sometimes in the Senate bray;
Or, chang'd again to beasts of prey,
Down from the lyon to the ape,
Practise the frauds of ev'ry shape.
So said. Upon the God he flies,
In cords the struggling captive tyes.
Now, Proteus, now (to truth compell'd)
Speak, and confess thy art excell'd.
Use strength, surprise, or what you will,
The courtier finds evasion still;
Not to be bound by any tyes,
And never forc'd to leave his lyes.
Fable XXXIV.
The Mastiffs
Those, who in quarrels interpose,
Must often wipe a bloody nose.
A Mastiff, of true English blood,
Lov'd fighting better than his food,
When dogs were snarling for a bone,
He long'd to make the war his own,
And often found (when two contend)
To interpose obtain'd his end;
He glory'd in his limping pace,
The scars of honour seam'd his face,
In ev'ry limb a gash appears,
And frequent fights retrench'd his ears.
As, on a time, he heard from far
Two dogs engag'd in noisy war,
Away he scours and lays about him,
Resolv'd no fray should be without him.
Forth from his yard a tanner flies,
And to the bold intruder cries,
A cudgel shall correct your manners.
Whence sprung this cursed hate to tanners?
While on my dog you vent your spite;
Sirrah, 'tis me you dare not bite,
To see the battel thus perplext,
With equal rage a butcher vext,
Hoarse-screaming from the circled croud,
To the curst Mastiff cries aloud.
Both Hockley-hole and Mary-bone
The combats of my dog have known;
He ne'er, like bullies coward-hearted,
Attacks in publick, to be parted;
Think not, rash fool, to share his fame,
Be his the honour or the shame.
Thus said, they swore and rav'd like thunder,
Then dragg'd their fasten'd dogs asunder,
While clubs and kicks from ev'ry side
Rebounded from the Mastiff's hide.
All reeking now with sweat and blood
A-while the parted warriors steod,
Then pour'd upon the meddling foe;
Who, worried, howl'd and sprawl'd below;
He rose; and limping from the fray,
By both sides mangled, soeak'd away.
Fable XXXV.
The Barley-Mow and the Dunghill
How many saucy airs we meet
From Temple-bar to Aldgate-street;
Proud rogues, who shar'd the South-sea prey,
And sprung like mushrooms in a day!
They think it means, to condescend
To know a brother or a friend;
They blush to hear their mother's name,
And by their pride expose their shame.
As cross his yard, at early day,
A careful farmer took his way,
He stop'd, and leaning on his fork
Observ'd the flail's incessant work;
In thought he measured all his store,
His geese, his hogs he number'd o'er,
In fancy weigh'd the fleeces shorn,
And multiply'd the next year's corn.
A Barley-mow, which flood beside,
Thus to its musing master cry'd.
Say, good sir, is it fit or right
To treat me with neglect and flight?
Me, who contribute to your cheer,
And raise your mirth with ale and beer!
Why thus insulted, thus disgrac'd,
And that vile dunghill near me plac'd?
Are those poor sweepings of a groom,
That filthy sight, that nauseous fume
Meet objects here? Command it hence:
A thing so mean must give offence.
The humble Dunghill thus reply'd.
Thy master hears and mocks thy pride,
Insult not thus the meek and low,
In me thy benefactor know;
My warm assistance gave thee birth,
Or thou hadst perished low in earth;
But upstarts, to support their station,
Cancell at once all obligation.
Fable XXXVI.
Pythagoras and the Countryman
Pithag'ras rose at early dawn.
By soaring meditation drawn,
To breathe the fragrance of the day,
Through flow'ry fields he took his way;
In musing contemplation warm,
His steps mis-led him to a farm,
Where, on the ladder's topmost round
A Peasant stood; the hammer's found
Shook the weak barn. Say, friend, what care
Calls for thy honest labour there?
The Clown with surly voice replies.
Vengeance aloud for justice cries:
This kite, by daily rapine fed,
My hen's annoy, my turkey's dread,
At length his forfeit life hath paid;
See, on the wall his wings display'd,
Here nail'd, a terror to his kind,
My fowls shall future safety find,
My yard the thriving poultry feed,
And my barn's refuse fat the breed.
Friend, says the Sage, the doom is wife,
For publick good the murd'rer dies;
But if these tyrants of the air
Demand a sentence so severe,
Think how the glutton man devours;
What bloody feasts regale his hours!
O impudence of power and might,
Thus to condemn a hawk or kite,
When thou perhaps, carniv'rous sinner,
Hadst pullets yesterday for dinner!
Hold, cry'd the Clown, with passion heated,
Shall kites and men alike be treated?
When Heav'n the world with creatures stor'd,
Man was ordain'd their sov'raign lord.
Thus tyrants boast, the Sage reply'd,
Whose murders spring from power and pride.
Own then this manlike kite is slain
Thy greater lux'ry to sustain;
For* petty rogues submit to fate
That great ones may enjoy their state.
*Garth's Dispensary.
Fable XXXVII.
The Farmers-Wife and the Raven
Why are those tears? Why droops your head?
Is then your other husband dead?
Or does a worse disgrace betide?
Hath no one since his death apply'd?
Alas! you know the cause too well.
The salt is spilt, to me it fell.
Then to contribute to my loss,
My knife and fork were laid across,
On friday too! the day I dread!
Would I were safe at home in bed!
Last night (I vow to Heav'n 'tis true)
Bounce from the fire a coffin flew.
Next post some fatal news shall tell.
God send my Cornish friends be well!
Unhappy widow, cease thy tears,
Nor feel affliction in thy fears;
Let not thy stomach be suspended,
Eat now, and weep when dinner's ended,
And when the butler clears the table
For thy dissert I'll read my fable.
Betwixt her swagging pannier's load
A Farmer's wife to market rode,
And, jogging on, with thoughtful care
Summ'd up the profits of her ware;
When, starting from her silver dream,
Thus far and wide was heard her scream.
That raven on yon left-hand oak
(Curse on his ill-betiding croak)
Bodes me no good. No more she said,
When poor blind Ball with stumbling tread
Fell prone; o'erturn'd the pannier lay,
And her mash'd eggs bestrow'd the way.
She, sprawling in the yellow road,
Rail'd, swore and cure. Thou croaking toad,
A murrain take thy whoreson throat!
I knew misfortune in the note.
Dame, quoth the Raven, spare your oaths,
Unclench your fist, and wipe your cloaths.
But why on me those curses thrown?
Goody, the fault was all your own;
For had you laid this brittle ware
On Dun, the old sure-footed mare,
Though all the ravens of the Hundred
With croaking had your tongue out-thunder'd,
Sure-footed Dun had kept his legs,
And you, good woman, sav'd your eggs.
Fable XXXVIII.
The Turkey and the Ant
In other men we faults can spy,
And blame the mote that dims their eye,
Each little speck and blemish find,
To pur own stronger errors blind.
A Turkey, tir'd of common food,
Forsook the barn and sought the wood,
Behind her ran her infant train,
Collecting here and there a grain.
Draw near, my birds, the mother cries,
This hill delicious fare supplies;
Behold, the busy Negro race,
See, millions blacken all the place!
Fear not. Like me with freedom eat;
An ant is most delightful meat.
How blest, how envy'd were our life,
Could we but 'scape the poult'rer's knife!
But man, curst man on turkeys preys,
And Christmas shortens all our days;
Sometimes with oysters we combine,
Sometimes assist the fairy chine.
From the low peasant to the lord,
The turkey smoaks on ev'ry board.
Sure men for gluttony are curst,
Of the seven deadly sins the worst.
An Ant, who climb'd beyond his reach,
Thus answer'd from the neighb'ring beech.
Ere you remark another's sin,
Bid thy own conscience look within.
Controul thy more voracious bill,
Nor for a breakfast nations kill.
Fable XXXIX.
The Father and Jupiter
The Man to Jove his suit preferr'd;
He begg'd a wife; his prayer was heard.
Jove wonder'd at his bold addressing.
For how precarious is the blessing!
A wife he takes. And now for heirs
Again he worries heav'n with prayers.
Jove nods assent. Two hopeful boys
And a fine girl reward his joys.
Now more solicitous he grew,
And set their future lives in view;
He saw that all respect and duty
Were paid tp wealth, to power, and beauty.
Once more, he cries, accept my prayer,
Make my lov'd progeny thy care:
Let my first hope, my fav'rite boy,
All fortune's richest gifts enjoy.
My next with strong ambition fire,
May favour teach him to aspire,
'Till he the step of power ascend,
And courtiers to their idol bend.
With ev'ry grace, with ev'ry charm
My daughter's perfect features arm.
If Heav'n approve, a father's blest.
Jove smiles, and grants his full request.
The first, a miser at the heart,
Studious of ev'ry griping art,
Heaps hoards on hoards with anxious pain,
And all his life devotes to gain.
He feels no joy, his cares encreafe,
He neither wakes nor sleeps in peace,
In fancy'd want (a wretch compleat)
He starves, and yet he dares not eat.
The next to sudden honours grew,
The thriving art of courts he knew;
He reach'd the height of power and place,
Then fell, the victim of disgrace.
Beauty with early bloom supplies
His daughter's cheek, and points her eyes:
The vain coquette each suit disdains,
And glories in her lovers pains.
With age she fades, each lover flies,
Contemn'd, forlorn, she pines and dies.
When Jove the father's grief survey'd,
And heard him Heav'n and Fate upbraid,
Thus spoke the God. By outward show
Men judge of happiness and woe:
Shall ignorance of good and ill
Dare to direct th' eternal will?
Seek virtue; and of that possest,
To Providence resign the rest.
Fable XL.
The two Monkeys
The learned, full of inward pride,
The fops of outward sliow deride;
The fop, with learning at defiance,
Scoffs at the pedant and the science:
The Don, a formal, solemn strutter,
Despises Monsieur's airs and flutter;
While Monsieur mocks the formal fool,
Who looks, and speaks, and walks by rule.
Britain, a medly of the twain,
As pert as France, as grave as Spain,
In fancy wiser than the rest,
Laughs at them both, of both the jest.
Is not the poet's chiming close
Censur'd, by all the sons of prose?
While bards of quick imagination
Despise the sleepy prose narration.
Men laugh at apes, they men contemn;
For what are we, but apes to them?
Two Monkeys went to Southwark fair,
No criticks had a sourer air.
They forc'd their way through draggled folks,
Who gap'd to catch Jack-Tuning's jokes.
Then took their tickets for the laws
And got by chance the foremost row.
To see their grave observing face
Provok'd a laugh thro' all the place.
Brother, says Pug, and turn'd his head,
The rabble's monstrously ill-bred.
Now through the booth loud hisses ran;
Nor ended 'till the Show began.
The tumbler whirles the flip-flap round,
With sommersets he shakes the ground;
The cord beneath the dancer springs;
Aloft in air the vaulter swings,
Distorted now, now prone depends,
Now through his twisted arms ascends;
The croud, in wonder and delight,
With clapping hands applaud the sight.
With smiles, quoth Pug; If pranks like these
The giant apes of reason please,
How would they wonder at our arts!
They must adore us for our parts.
High on the twig I've seen you cling,
Play, twist and turn in airy ring;
How can those clumsy things, like me,
Fly with a bound from tree to tree?
But yet, by this applause, we find
These emulators of our kind
Discern our worth, our parts regard,
Who our mean mimicks thus reward.
Brother, the grinning mate replies,
In this I grant that man is wise,
While good example they pursue,
We must allow some praise is due;
But when they strain beyond their guide,
I laugh to scorn the mimic pride.
For how fantastick is the sight,
To meet men always bolt upright,
Because we sometimes walk on two!
I hate the imitating crew.
Fable XLI.
The Owl and the Farmer
An Owl of grave report and mein,
Who (like the Turk) was seldom seen,
Within a barn had chose his station,
As fit for prey and contemplation:
Upon a beam aloft he sits,
And nods, and seems to think, by fits.
So have I seen a man of news
Or Post-boy, or Gazette peruse,
Smoak, nod, and talk with voice profound,
And fix the fate of Europe round.
Sheaves pil'd on leaves hid all the floor:
At dawn of morn to view his store
The Farmer came. The hooting guest
His self-importance thus exprest.
Reason in man is meer pretence:
How weak, how shallow is his sense!
To treat with scorn the bird of night?
Declares his folly or his spite;
Then too, how partial is his praise!
The lark's, the linnet's chirping lays
To his ill-judging ears are fine;
And nightingales are all divine.
But the more knowing feather'd race
See wisdom stampt upon my face.
Whene'er to visit light I deign,
What flocks of fowl compose my train!
Like slaves, they croud my flight behind,
And own me of superior kind.
The Farmer laugh'd, and thus reply'd.
Thou dull important lump of pride,
Dar'st thou with that harsh grating tongue
Depreciate birds of warbling song?
Indulge thy spleen. Know, men and fowl!
Regard thee, as thou art, an owl.
Besides, proud blockheads be not vain
Of what thou call'st thy slaves and train.
Few follow wisdom or her rules,
Fools in derision follow fools.
Fable XLII.
The Jugglers
A Juggler long through all the town
Had rais'd his fortune and renown;
You'd think (so far his art transcends)
The devil at his finger's ends.
Vice heard his fame, she read his bill;
Convinc'd of his inferior skill,
She sought his booth, and from the croud
Defy'd the man of art aloud.
Is this then he so fam'd for flight,
Can this slow bungler cheat your sight,
Dares he with me dispute the prize?
I leave it to impartial eyes.
Provok'd, the Juggler cry'd, 'tis done.
In science I submit to none.
Thus said. The cups and balls he play'd;
By turns, this here, that there, convey'd:
The cards, obedient to his words,
Are by a fillip turn'd to birds;
His little boxes change the grain,
Trick after trick deludes the train.
He shakes his bag, he shows all fair,
His fingers spread, and nothing there,
Then bids it rain with showers of gold,
And now his iv'ry eggs are told,
But when from thence the hen he draws,
Amaz'd spectators humm applause.
Vice now stept forth and took the place,
With all the forms of his grimace.
This magick looking-glass, she cries,
(There, hand it round) will charm your eyes:
Each eager eye the sight desir'd,
And ev'ry man himself admir'd.
Next, to a senator addressing;
See this Bank-note; observe the blessing:
Breathe on the bill. Heigh, pass! 'Tis gone.
Upon his lips a padlock shone.
A second puff the magick broke,
The padlock vanish'd, and he spoke.
Twelve bottles rang'd upon the board,
All full, with heady liquor stor'd,
By clean conveyance disappear,
And now two bloody swords are there.
A purse she to a thief expos'd;
At once his ready fingers clos'd;
He opes his fill, the treasure's fled,
He sees a halter in its stead.
She bids Ambition hold a wand,
He grasps a hatchet in his hand.
A box of charity she shows:
Blow here; and a church-warden blows,
'Tis vanish'd with conveyance neat,
And on the table smoaks a treat.
She shakes the dice, the board she knocks,
And from all pockets fills her box.
She next a meagre rake addrest;
This picture see; her shape, her breast!
What youth, and what inviting eyes!
Hold her, and have her. With surprise,
His hand expos'd a box of pills;
And a loud laugh proclaim'd his ills.
A counter, in a miser's hand,
Grew twenty guineas at command;
She bids his heir the summ retain,
And 'tis a counter now again.
A guinea with her touch you see
Take ev'ry shape but Charity;
And not one thing, you saw, or drew,
But chang'd from what was first in view.
The Juggler now, in grief of heart,
With this submission own'd her art.
Can I such matchless slight withstand?
How practice hath improv'd your hand!
But now and then I cheat the throng;
You ev'ry day, and all day long.
Fable XLIII.
The Council of Horses
Upon a time a neighing steed,
Who graz'd among a num'rous breed,
With mutiny had fired the train,
And spread dissention through the plain.
On matters that concern'd the State
The council met in grand debate.
A colt, whose eye-balls flamed with fire,
Elate with strength and youthful fire,
In haste slept forth before the rest,
And thus the listening throng addrest.
Good Gods! how abject is our race,
Condemn'd to slavery and disgrace!
Shall we our servitude retain,
Because our sires have born the chain?
Consider, friends, your strength and might;
'Tis conquest to assert your right.
How cumb'rous is the gilded coach!
The pride of man is our reproach.
Were we designed for daily toil,
To drag the plough-share through the soil,
To sweat in harness through the road,
To groan beneath the carrier's load?
How feeble are the two-legg'd kind!
What force is in our nerves combin'd!
Shall then our nobler jaws submit
To foam and champ the galling bit?
Shall haughty man my back bestride?
Shall the sharp spur provoke my side?
Forbid it Heav'ns! Reject the rein,
Your shame, your infamy disdain.
Let him the lyon first controul,
And still the tyger's famish'd growler
Let us, like them, our freedom claim,
And make him tremble at our name.
A general nod approv'd the cause,
And all the circle neigh'd applause.
When, lo, with grave and solemn pace
A steed advanc'd before the race,
With age and long experience wise,
Around he cast his thoughtful eyes,
And, to the murmurs of the train,
Thus spoke the Nestor of the plain.
When I had health and strength, like you,
The toils of servitude I knew;
Now grateful man rewards my pains,
And gives me all these wide domains;
At will I crop the year's increase,
My latter life is rest and peace.
I grant to man we lend our pains,
And aid him to correct the plains;
But doth not he divide the care,
Through all the labours of the year?
How many thousand structures rise,
To fence us from inclement skies!
For us he bears the sultry day,
And stores up all our winter's hay;
He sows, he reaps the harvest's gain,
We share the toil and share the grain.
Since ev'ry creature was decreed
To aid each other's mutual need,
Appease your discontented mind,
And act the part by Heav'n assign'd.
The tumult ceas'd. The colt submitted,
And, like his ancestors, was bitted.
Fable XLIV.
The Hound and the Huntsman
Impertinence at first is born
With heedless slight, or smiles of scorn;
Teaz'd into wrath, what patience bears
The noisy fool who perseveres?
Fable XLV.
The Poet and the Rose
I hate the man who builds his name
On ruins of another's fame.
Thus prudes by characters o'erthrown
Imagine that they raise their own;
Thus scriblers, covetous of praise,
Think slander can transplant the bays.
Beauties and bards have equal pride,
With both all rivals are decry'd.
Who praises Lesbia's eyes and feature,
Must call her sister, aukward creature;
For the kind flatt'ry's sure to charm,
When we some other nymph disarm.
As in the cool of early day
A Poet sought the sweets of May,
The garden's fragrant breath ascends,
And ev'ry stalk with odour bends.
A rose he pluck'd, he gaz'd, admir'd,
Thus singing as the Muse inspir'd.
Go, Rose, my Chloe's bosom grace;
How happy should I prove,
Might I supply that envy'd place
With never-fading love!
There, Phenix like, beneath her eye,
Involv'd in fragrance, burn and die!
Know, hapless flower, that thou shalt find
More fragrant roses there;
I see thy with'ring head reclin'd
With envy and despair!
One common fate we both must prove;
You die with envy, I with love.
Spare your comparisons, reply'd
An angry Rose, who grew beside;
Of all mankind you should not flout us;
What can a Poet do without us!
In ev'ry love-song roses bloom;
We lend you colour and perfume.
Does it to Chloe's charms conduce,
To found her praise on our abuse?
most we, to flatter her, be made
To wither, envy, pine and fade?
Fable XLVI.
The Cur, the Horse, and the Shepherd's Dog
The lad, of all-sufficient merit,
With modesty ne'er damps his spirit,
Presuming on his own deserts,
On all alike his tongue exerts;
His noisy jokes at random throws,
And pertly spatters friends and foes;
In wit and war the bully race
Contribute to their own disgrace:
Too late the forward youth shall find
That jokes are sometimes paid in kind,
Or if they canker in the breast,
He makes a foe who makes a jest.
A village-cur, of snappish race,
The pertest puppy of the place,
Imagin'd that his treble throat
Was blest with musick's sweetest note;
In the mid road he basking lay,
The yelping nusance of the way;
For not a creature past along
But had a sample of his song.
Soon as the trotting steed he hears,
He starts, he cocks his dapper ears,
Away he scowers, assaults his hoof,
Now near him snarles, now barks aloof;
With shrill impertinence attends,
Nor leaves him 'till the village ends.
It chanc'd, upon his evil day,
A Pad came pacing down the way;
The Cur, with never-ceasing tongue,
Upon the passing trav'ler sprung,
The horse, from scorn provok'd to ire,
Flung backward; rolling in the mire,
The puppy howl'd, and bleeding lay;
The Pad in peace pursu'd his way.
A shepherd's Dog, who saw the deed,
Detesting the vexatious breed,
Bespoke him thus. When coxcombs prate,
They kindle wrath, contempt, or hate.
Thy teazing tongue had judgment ty'd,
Thou hadst not, like a puppy, dy'd.
Fable XLVII.
The Court of Death
Death, on a solemn night of state,
In all his pomp of terrors fate:
Th' attendants of his gloomy reign,
Diseases dire, a ghastly train,
Croud the vast court. With hollow tone
A voice thus thunder'd from the throne.
This night our minister we name,
Let ev'ry servant speak his claim;
Merit shall bear this eban wand,
All, at the word, stretch'd forth their hand.
Feaver, with burning heat possest,
Advanc'd, and for the wand addrest.
I to the weekly bills appeal,
Let those express my fervent zeal,
On ev'ry slight occasion near,
With violence I persevere.
Next Gout appears with limping pace,
Pleads how he shifts from place to place,
From head to foot how swift he flies,
And ev'ry joint and sinew plys,
Still working when he seems supprest,
A most tenacious stubborn guest.
A haggard spectre from the crew
Crawls forth, and thus asserts his due.
'Tis I who taint the sweetest joy,
And in the shape of love destroy:
My shanks, sunk eyes, and noseless face
Prove my pretension to the place.
Stone urg'd his ever-growing force.
And, next, Consumption's meagre corse,
With feeble voice, that scarce was heard,
Broke with short coughs, his suit prefer'd.
Let none object my lingring way,
I gain, like Fabius, by delay,
Fatigue and weaken ev'ry foe
By long attack, secure though slow.
Plague represents his rapid power,
Who thinn'd a nation in an hour.
All spoke their claim, and hop'd the wand.
Now expectation hush'd the band,
When When thus the monarch from the throne.
Merit was ever modest known.
What, no physician speak his right!
None here! But fees their toils require.
Let then Intemp'rance take the wand,
Who fills with gold their zealous hand.
You, Feaver, Gout, and all the rest,
(Whom wary men, as foes, detest,)
Forgo your claim; no more pretend;
Intemp'rance is esteem'd a friend,
He shares their mirth, their social joys,
And, as a courted guest, destroys;
The charge on him must justly fall,
Who finds employment for you all.
Fable XLVIII.
The Gardener and the Hog
A Gard'ner, of peculiar taste,
On a young Hog his favour plac'd,
Who fed not with the common herd,
His tray was to the hall prefer'd,
He wallow'd underneath the board,
Or in his master's chamber shor'd,
Who fondly stroak'd him ev'ry day,
And taught him all the puppy's play;
Where'er he went, the grunting friend
Ne'er fail'd his pleasure to attend.
As on a time, the loving pair
Walk'd forth to tend the garden's care,
The master thus addrest the swine.
My house, my garden, all is thine:
On turnips feast whene'er you please,
And riot in my beans and pease,
If the potatoe's taste delights,
Or the red carrot's sweet invites,
Indulge thy morn and evening hours,
But let due care regard my flowers;
My tulips are my garden's pride.
What vast expence those beds supply'd!
The Hog by chance one morning roam'd
Where with new ale the vessels foam'd;
He munches now the steaming grains,
Now with full swill the liquor drains;
Intoxicating fumes arise,
He reels, he rolls his winking eyes,
Then staggering through the garden flowers,
And treads down painted ranks of flowers,
With delving snout he turns the soil,
And cools his palate with the spoil.
The Master came, the ruin spy'd.
Villain, suspend thy rage, hecry'd:
Hast thou, thou most ungrateful sot,
My charge, my only charge forgot?
What, all my flowers! No more he said,
But gaz'd, and sigh'd, and hung his head.
The Hog with stutt'ring speech returns.
Explain, Sir, why your anger burns;
See there, untouch'd your tulips strown,
For I devour'd the roots alone!
At this, the Gard'ner's passion grows;
From oaths and threats he fell to blows;
The stubborn brute the blows sustains,
Assaults his leg and tears the veins.
Ah, foolish swain, too late you find
That flies were for such friends design'd!
Homeward he limps with painful pace,
Reflecting thus on past disgrace;
Who cherishes a brutal mate
Shall mourn the folly soon or late.
Fable XLIX.
The Man and the Flea
Whether on earth, in air, or main,
Sure ev'ry thing alive is vain!
Does not the hawk all fowls survey,
As destin'd only for his prey?
And do not tyrants, prouder things,
Think men were born for slaves to kings?
When the crab views the pearly strands,
Or Tagus, bright with golden sands,
Or crawles beside the coral grove,
And hears the ocean roll above;
Nature is too profuse, says he,
Who gave all these to pleasure me!
When bord'ring pinks and roses bloom,
And ev'ry garden breathes perfume,
When peaches glow with sunny dyes,
Like Laura's cheek, when blushes rise;
When with huge figs the branches bend;
When clusters from the vine depend;
The snail looks round on flow'r and tree,
And cries, all these were made for me!
What dignity's in human nature,
Says Man, the most conceited creature,
As from a cliff he cast his eye,
And view'd the sea and arched sky!
The sun was sunk beneath the main,
The moon, and all the starry train
Hung, the vast vault of heav'n. The Man
His contemplation thus began.
When I behold this glorious show,
And the wide watry world below,
The scaly people of the main,
The beasts that range the wood or plain,
the wing'd inhabitants of air,
The day, the night, the various year,
And know all these by heav'n design'd
As gifts to pleasure human kind,
I cannot raise my worth too high;
Of what vast consequence am I!
Not of th' importance you suppose,
Replies a Flea upon his nose:
Be humble, learn thyself to scan;
Know, pride was never made for man.
'Tis vanity that swells thy mind.
What, heav'n and earth for thee design'd!
For thee! made only for our need;
That more important Fleas might feed.
Fable L.
The Hare and many Friends
Friendship, like love, is but a name,
Unless to one you stint the flame.
The child, whom many fathers share,
Hath seldom known a father's care;
'Tis thus in friendships; who depend
On many, rarely find a friend.
A Hare, who, in a civil way,
Comply'd with ev'ry thing, like Gay,
Was known by all the bestial train,
Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain:
Her care was, never to offend,
And ev'ry creature was her friend.
As forth she went at early dawn
To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn,
Behind she hears the hunter's cries,
And from the deep-mouth'd thunder flies;
She starts, she stops, she pants for breath,
She hears the near advance of death,
She doubles to mis-lead the hound,
And measures back her mazy round;
'Till, fainting in the publick way,
Half dead with fear she gasping lay.
What transport in her bosom grew,
When first the horse appear'd in view!
Let me, says she, your back ascend,
And owe my safety to a friend,
You know my feet betray my flight,
To friendship ev'ry burthen's light.
The horse reply'd, poor honest puss,
It grieves my heart to see thee thus;
Be comforted, relief is near;
For all your friends are in the rear.
She next the stately bull implor'd;
And thus reply'd the mighty lord.
Since ev'ry beast alive can tell
That I sincerely wish you well,
I may, without offence, pretend
To take the freedom of a friend;
Love calls me hence; a fav'rite cow
Expects me near yon barley mow:
And when a lady's in the case,
You know, all other things give place.
To leave you thus might seem unkind;
But see, the goat is just behind.
The goat remark'd her pulse was high,
Her languid head, her heavy eye;
My back, says he, may do you harm;
The sheep's at hand, and wool is warm.
The sheep was feeble, and complain'd,
His sides a load of wool sustain'd,
Said he was slow, confess his fears;
For hounds eat sheep as well as hares.
She now the trotting calf address,
To save from death a friend distrest.
Shall I, says he, of tender age,
In this important care engage?
Older and abler past you by;
How strong are those! how weak am I!
Should I presume to bear you hence,
Those friends of mine may take offence.
Excuse me then. You know my heart.
But dearest friends, alas, must part!
How shall we all lament: Adieu.
For see the hounds are just in view.