THE EAGLE AND THE ASSEMBLY OF BIRDS.
To Her Royal Highness
THE PRINCESS OF WALES.
THE moral lay, to beauty duc,
I write, fair excellence, to you;
Well pleas'd to hope my vacant hours
Have been employ'd to sweeten yours.
Truth under fiction I impart,
To weed out folly from the heart,
And show the paths, that lead astray
The wand'ring nymph from wisdom's way,
The great and good
Are by their actions understood;
Your monument if actions raise,
Shall I deface by idle praise?
I echo not the voice of fame,
That dwells delighted on your name;
Her friendly tale, however true,
Were flatt'ry if I told it
The proud, the envious, and the vain, The jilt, the prude, demand my strain;
To these, detesting praise, I write,
And vent, in charity, my spite.
With friendly hand I hold the glass
To all, promiscuous as they pass;
Should folly there her likeness view,
I fret not that the mirror's true.
If the fantastic form offend,
I made it not, but would amend.
Virtue, in every clime and age,
Spurns at the folly-soothing page,
While Satire, that offends the ear
Of Vice and Passion, pleases her.
Premising this, your anger spare,
And claim the fable, you who dare.
The birds in place, by factions press'd,
To Jupiter their pray'rs address'd;
By specious lies the state was vex'd,
Their counsels libellers perplex'd.
They begg'd (to stop seditious tongues)
A gracious hearing of their wrongs.
Jove grants their suit. The eagle sate,
Decider of the grand debate.
The pye, to trust and pow'r preferr'd
Demands permission to be heard.
Says he, prolixity of phrase
You know I hate. This libel
"Some birds there are, who prone to noise,
Are hir'd to silence wisdom's voice;
And, skill'd to chatter out the hour,
Rise by their emptiness to pow'r.
That this is aim'd direct at me,
No doubt, you'll readily agree;
Yet well this sage assembly knows,
By parts of government I rose;
My prudent counsels prop the state;
Magpies were never known to prate.
The kite rose up. His honest heart
In Virtue's suff'rings bore a part.
That there were birds of prey, he knew:
So far the libeller said true.
"Voracious, bold, to rapine prone,
Who knew no int'rest but their own;
Who, hov'ring o'er the farmer's yard,
Nor pigeon, chick, nor duckling spar'd."
This might be true; but if apply'd
To him, in troth, the sland'rer ly'd.
Since Ign'rance then might be misled,
Such things, he thought, were best unsaid.
The crow was vext. As yester-morn
He flew across the new-sown corn,
A screaming boy was set, for pay,
He knew, to drive the crows away:
Scandal had found him out in turn,
And buzz'd abroad, that crows loye corn,
The owl arose, with solemn face,
And thus harangu'd upon the case.
That magpies prate it may be true;
A kite may be voracious too;
Crows sometimes deal in new-sown pease;
He libels not, who strikes at these.
The slander's here" But there are birds,
Whose wisdom lies in looks, not words:
Blund'rers who level in the dark,
And always shoot beside the mark."
He names not me: but these are hints,
Which manifest at whom he squints;
I were, indeed, that blund'ring fowl,
To question if he meant an owl.
"Ye wretches, hence!" the eagle cries:
""Tis conscience, conscience that applies;
The virtuous mind takes no alarm,
Secur'd by Innocence from harm,
While Guilt, and his associate, Fear,
Are startled at the passing air.”
The Panther, the Horse, and other Beasts.
THE man who seeks to win the fair,
(So custom says) must truth forbear;
Must fawn and flatter, cringe and lie,
And raise the goddess to the sky;
For truth is hateful to her ear,
A rudeness which she cannot bear-
A rudeness?-Yes-I speak my thoughts:
For truth upbraids her with her faults.
How wretched, Chloe, then am I,
Who love you, and yet cannot lie,
And still to make you less my friend,
I strive your errors to amend!
But shall the senseless fop impart
The softest passions to your heart,
While he, who tells you honest truth,
And points to happiness your youth,
Determines, by his care, his lot,
And lives neglected and forgot:
Trust me, my dear, with greater ease,
Your taste for flatt'ry I could please.
And similes in each dull line,
Like glow-worms in the dark, should shine.
What if I say your lips disclose
The freshness of the op'ning rose?
Or that your cheeks are beds of flow'rs,
Enrip'ned by refreshing show'rs?
Yet certain as these flow'rs shail fade,
Time ev'ry beauty will invade.
The butterfly of various hue,
More than the flow'r, resembles you;
Fair, flutt'ring, fickle, busy thing,
To pleasure ever on the wing,
Gayly coquetting for an hour,
To die, and ne'er be thought of more.
Would you the bloom of youth should last? 'Tis virtue that must bind it fast,
An easy carriage, wholly free
From sour reserve, or levity;
Good-natur'd mirth, an open heart,
And looks unskill'd in any part;
Humility, enough to own
The frailties, which a friend makes known,
And decent pride, enough to know
The worth that Virtue can bestow.
These are the charms which ne'er decay,
Tho' youth, and beauty fade away,
And Time, which all things else removes,
Still heightens virtuè, and improves.
You'll frown, and ask, to what intent
This blunt address to you is sent?
I'll spare the question, and confess
I'd praise you, if I lov'd you less:
But rail, be angry, or complain,
I will be rude, while you are vain.
Beneath a lion's peaceful reign,
When beast met friendly on the plain,
A panther, of majestic port,
(The vainest female of the court)
|