Sudden the God a lion stands;

He thakes his mane, he fpurns the fands;
Now a fierce lynx, with fiery glare,
A wolf, an afs, a fox, a bear.

Had I ne'er liv'd at court, he cries,
Such transformation might surprise;
But there, in queft of daily game,
Each abler courtier acts the fame.
Wolves, lions, 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 fometimes in the fenate bray;
Or chang`d again to beasts of prey,
Down from the lion to the ape
Practife the frauds of ev'ry shape.
So faid, upon the God he flies;
In cords the struggling captive ties.
Now, Proteus, now (to truth compell'd)
Speak, and confefs thy art excell'd.
Ule ftrength, furprise, or what you will,
The courtier finds evasions still:
Not to be bound by any ties,
And never forc'd to leave his lyes.

§16. Fable XXXIV. The Maftiffs.
THOSE who in quarrels interpofe,
Muft often wipe a bloody nofe.
A Mastiff, of true English blood,
Lov'd fighting better than his food.
When dogs were fnarling for a bone,
He long'd to make the war his own;
And often found (when two contend)
To interpofe obtain'd his end;
He glory'd in his limping pace;
The fears of honour feam'd his face;
In ev`ry limb a gash appears,

And frequent fights retrench'd his cars.
As on a time he heard from far
Two dogs engag'd in noify war,
Away he fcours, and lays about him,
Refoly'd no fray fhould be without him.
Forth from his yard a tanner flics,
And to the bold intruder cries:

A cudgel fhall correct your manners;
Whence fprung this curfed hate to tanners?
While on my Dog you vent your fpite,
Sirrah! 'tis me you dare not bite.
To fee the battle thus perplex'd,
With equal rage a butcher vex'd,
Hoarfe fcreaming from the circled crowd,
To the curs'd Maftiff cries aloud:

Both Hockley-hole and Mary-bone
The combats of my Dog have known.
He ne'er, like bullies coward-hearted,
Anacks in public, to be parted.
Think not, rafh fool, to fhare his fame;
Be his the honour or the shame.

Thus faid, they fwore, and rav'd like thunder; Then dragg'd their faften'd Dogs afunder; While clubs and kicks from ev'ry fide Rebounded from the Maftift's hide.

All recking now with fweat and bloed, A while the parted warriors stood,

Then pour'd upon the meddling foe,
Who, worried, howl'd and fprawl'd below.
He rofe; and limping from the fray,
By both fides mangled fneak'd

§ 157.

away.

Fable XXXV. The Barley Mow and the Dung hill.

HOW many faucy airs we meet

From Temple-bar to Aldgate ftreet! Proud rogues, who fhar'd the South-fea prey, And fpring like mushrooms in a day! They think it mean to condefcend

To know a brother or a friend;

They blush to hear their mother's name;
And by their pride expofe their fhamc.
As 'crofs his yard, at early day,
A careful farmer took his way,
He ftopp'd, and leaning on his fork,
Obferv'd the flail's inceffant work.
In thought he meafur'd all his store;
His geefe, his hogs, he number'd o'er:
In fancy weigh'd the fleeces fhorn,
And multiplied the next year's corn.
A Barley-mow, which stood befide,
Thus to its muling mafter cried:

Say, good Sir, is it fit or right
To treat me with neglect and flight?
Me, who contribute to your cheer,
And raife your mirth with ale and beer,
Why thus infulted, thus difgrac'd,
And that vile Dunghill near me plac'd?
Are thofe poor fweepings of a groom,
That filthy fight, that naufeous fume,
Meet objects here? Command it hence:
A thing fo mean muft give offence.

The humble Dunghill thus replied:
Thy mafter hears, and mocks thy pride:
Infult not thus the meek and low;
In me thy benefactor know;
My warm affiftance gave thee birth,
Or thou hadst perifh'd low in earth;
But upftarts, to fupport their ftation,
Cancel at once all obligation.

§ 158. Fable XXXVI. Pythagoras and the
Countryman.
PYTHAG RAS rofe at carly dawn,
By foaring meditation drawn,
To breathe the fragrance of the day,
Through flow'ry fields he took his way.
In muling contemplation warm,
His fteps mifled him to a farm,
Where, on the ladder's topmoft round,
A peafant ftood: the haminer's found

Shook the weak barn. Say, friend, what carę
Calls for thy honeft labour there ?

The Clown, with furly voice, replies:
Vengeance aloud for juftice cries.
This kite, by daily rapine fed,
My hens annoy, my turkics dread,
At length his forfeit life hath paid;
See on the wall his wings difplay'd;

Here

Here nail'd, a terror to his kind,
My fowls fhall future fafety find;
My yard the thriving poultry feed,
And my barns refufe fat the breed.

Friend, fays the Sage, the doom is wife;
For public good the murd❜rer dies.
But if these tyrants of the air
Demand a sentence fo fevere,
Think how the glutton man devours;
What bloody feafts regale his hours!
O, impudence of pow'r and might,
Thus to condemn a hawk or kite,
When thou perhaps, carniv'rous finner,
Hadft pullets yesterday for dinner!

Hold! cried the Clown, with paffion heated,

Shall kites and men alike be treated?
When Heaven the world with creatures kor'd,
Man was ordain'd their fov'reign lord.

Thus tyrants boaft, the Sage replied,
Whofe murders fpring from power and pride.
Own then this manlike kite is flain
Thy greater lux'ry to sustain ;

For

Petty rogues fubmit to fate, "That great ones may enjoy their state.”

§ 159. Fable XXXVII. The Farmer's Wife and the Raven.

WHY are thofe tears? why droops your head?

Is then your other husband dead?

Or does a worse disgrace betide;
Hath no one fince his death applied?

Alas! know the cause too well:
you
The falt is fpilt, to me it fell.
Then, to contribute to my lofs,
My knife and fork were laid across;
On Friday too! the day I dread!
Would I were fafe at home in bed!
Laft night (1 vow to heaven 'tis true)
Bounce from the fire a coffin flew.
Next poft fome fatal news fhall tell.
God fend my Cornifh friends be well!
Unhappy widow, ceafe thy tears,
Nor feel affliction in thy fears:
Let not thy ftomach be suspended;
Eat now, and weep when dinner's ended;
And when the butler clears the table,
For thy deffert I'll read
my fable.

Betwixt her fwagging panniers 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 filver dream,
Thus far and wide was heard her fcream.
That Raven on yon left-hand oak
(Curfe on his ill-betiding croak)
Bodes me no good. No more fhe faid,
When poor
blind Ball, with ftumbling tread,
Fell prone; o'erturn'd the pannier lay,
And her mash'd eggs beftrew'd the way.

She, fprawling in the yellow road,

Rail'd, fwore, and curs'd: Thou croaking toad,

A murrain take thy whorefon throat!
I knew misfortune in the note.

Dame, quoth the Raven, fpare your oaths,
Unclench your fift, and wipe your clothes.
But why on me thofe curfes thrown?
Goody, the fault was all your own;
For had you laid this brittle ware
On Dun, the old fure-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, fav'd your eggs.

§ 160. Fable XXXVIII. The Turkey and the Ant. IN other men we faults can spy,

And blame the moat that dims their eye;
Each little fpeck and blemish find;
To our own ftronger errors blind.

A Turkey, tir'd of common food,
Forfook the barn, and fought 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 fupplies;
Behold, the bufy Negro race:
See, millions blacken all the place!
Fear not. Like me with freedom eat
An Ant is moft delightful meat.

How blefs'd, how envied were our life,
Could we but 'fcape the poult'rer's knife ;
But man, curs'd man! on Turkey preys,
And Christmas fhortens all our days:
Sometimes with oyfters we combine,
Sometimes affift the fav'ry chine.
From the low peasant to the lord,
The Turkey fmoaks on ev'ry board.
Sure men for gluttony are curs'd:
Of the feven deadly fins the worst.

An Ant, who climb'd beyond his reach,
Thus answer'd from the neighb'ring beech:
Ere you remark another's fin,

Bid thy own confcience look within;
Controul thy more voracious bill,
Nor for a break faft nations kill.

$161. Fable XXXIX. The Father and Jupiter. THE Man to Jove his fuit preferr'd;

He begg'd a wife; his pray'r was heard.
Jove wonder'd at his bold addreffing:
For how precarious is the bleffing!

A wife he takes. And now for heirs
Again he worries Heaven with prayers. ¡
Jove nods affent. Two hopeful boys
And a fine girl reward his joys.

Now more folicitous he grew,
And fet their future lives in view;
He saw that all respect and duty

Were paid to wealth, to pow'r, and beauty.
Once more he cries, Accept my pray's;
Make my lov'd progeny thy care.
Let my firft hope, my fav'rite boy,
All fortune's richeft gifts enjoy.

My next with ftrong ambition fire:
May favour teach him to afpire;
Till he the step of pow'r afcend,
And courtiers to their idol bend.
With ev'ry grace, with ev'ry charm,
My daughter's perfect features arm.
If Heaven approve, a Father's bleft.
Jove imiles, and grants his full request.
The first, a mifer 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 increase,
He neither wakes nor fleeps in peace;
In fancied want (a wretch complete)
He farves, and yet he dares not eat.

The next to fudden honours grew:
The thriving art of courts he knew;
He reach'd the height of pow'r and place,
Then full, the victim of disgrace.

Beauty with early bloom fupplies His daughter's cheek, and points her eyes. The vain coquette each fuit difdains, And glories in her lover's pains. With age the fades, each lover flies, Contern'd, forlorn, the pines and dies.

When Jove the Father's grief furvey'd, And heard him Heaven and Fate upbraid, Thus fpoke the God: By outward thew Men judge of happiness and woe : Shail ignorance of good and ill Dare to direct th' Eternal Will? Seek virtue: and, of that poffeft, To Providence refign the rest.

§ 162. Fable XL. The Two Monkeys.

TH
~HE learned, full of inward pride,

The Fops of outward fhow deride:
The Fop, with learning at defiance,
Scoffs at the pedant, and the fcience:
The Don, a formal, folemn ftrutter,
Defpifes Monfieur's airs and flutter;
While Monfieur mocks the formal fool,
Who looks, and speaks, and walks by rule.
Britain, a medley of the twain,
As pert as France, as grave as Spain,
In fancy wifer than the rest,
Laughs at them both, of both the jest.
Is not the poet's chiming clofe
Cenfur'd by all the fons of profe?
While bards of quick imagination
Defpife the fleepy profe narration.
Men laugh at apes, they men contemn;
For what are we but apes to them?

Two Monkeys went to Southwark fair, No critics had a fourer air:

They forc'd their way thro' draggled folks,
Who gap'd to catch Jack-pudding's jokes ;
Then took their tickets for the fhow,
And got by chance the foremost row.
To fee their grave, obferving face,
Provok'd a laugh through all the place.
Brother, fays Pug, and turn'd his head,
The rabble's monftroufly ill-bred!

Now through the booth loud hisses ran; Nor ended till the fhow began. The tumbler whirls the flip-flap round, With fomersets he fhakes the ground; The cord beneath the dancer fprings, Aloft in air the vaulter fwings; Distorted now, now prone depends, Now through his twifted arms afcends: The crowd, in wonder and delight, With clapping hands applaud the fight.

With fimiles, quoth Pug, If pranks like these The giant apes of reafon pleafe, How would they wonder at our arts! They must adore us for our parts. High on the twig I've feen you cling. Play, twift, and turn in airy ring: How can thofe clumfy things, like me Fly with a bound from tree to tree? But yet, by this applaufe, we find Thefe emulators of our kind Difcern our worth, our parts regard, Who our mean mimics thus reward. Brother, the grinning mate replies, In this I grant that man is wife. While good example they purfue, We must allow fome praite is due; But when they ftrain beyond their guide, I laugh to fcorn the mimic pride; For how fantastic is the fight, To meet men always bolt upright, Because we fometimes walk on two!

I hate the imitating crew.

§ 163. Fable XLI. The Owl and the Farmer

AN Owl of grave deport and mien,

Who (like the Turk) was feldom feen,
Within a barn had chofe his ftation,
As fit for prey and contemplation.

Upon a beam aloft he fits,

And nods, and feems to think, by fits,
So have I feen a man of news

Or Poft-boy or Gazette perufe;

Smoke, nod, and talk with voice profound,
And fix the fate of Europe round.
Sheaves pil'd on fheaves hid all the floor.
At dawn of morn, to view his ftore,
The Farmer came. The hooting guckt
His felf-importance thus exprefs'd:

Reafon in man is mere pretence:
How weak, how fhallow is his fenfe!
To treat with fcorn the Bird of Night,
Declares his folly, or his fpite.
Then, too, how partial is his praife!
The lark's, the linnet's chirping lays,
To his ill-judging cars are fine,
And nightingales are all divine.
But the more knowing feather'd race
See witdom ftamp'd upon my face.
Whene'er to vifit light I deign,
What flocks of fowl comp fe my train!
Like flaves, they crowd my flight behind,
And own me of fuperior kind."

The Farmer laugh'd, and thus replied:
Thou dull important lump of pride,

Dar'ft

Dar'ft thou, with that harsh grating tongue,
Depreciate birds of warbling fong.
Indulge thy fpleen. Know, men and fowl
Regard thee as thou art, an Owl.
Befides, proud blockhead, be not vain
Of what thou call'ft thy flaves and train.
Few follow wifdom, or her rules;
Fools in derifion follow fools.

§ 164. Fable XLII. The Jugglers. A JUGGLER long through all the town

Had rais'd his fortune and renown;
You'd think (fo far his art tranfcends)
The devil at his fingers ends.

Vice heard his fame, the read his bill;
Convinc'd of his inferior fkill,
She fought his booth, and from the crowd
Defied the man of art aloud:

Is this then he fo fam'd for flight?
Can this flow bungler cheat your fight?
Dares he with me dispute the prize?
I leave it to impartial eyes.

Provok'd, the Juggler cried, 'Tis done;
In fcience I fubmit to none.

Thus faid, 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 fhews all fair;
His fingers fpread, and nothing there;
Then bids it rain with fhow'rs of gold:
And now his iv'ry eggs are told;
But when from thence the hen he draws,
Amaz'd fpectators hum applaufe.

Vice now ftept forth, and took the place
With all the forms of his grimace.

This magic looking glafs, the cries, (There, hand it round) will charm your eyes. Each eager eye the fight defir'd, And ev'ry man himself admir'd.

Next, to a fenator addreffing,

See this bank-note; obferve the bleffing,
Breathe on the bill. Heigh, pafs! 'tis gone.
Upon his lips a padlock fhone.
A fecond puff the magic broke;
The padlock vanish'd, and he spoke.

Twelve bottles rang'd upon the board,
All full, with heady liquor ftor'd,
By clean conveyance difappear,
And now, two bloody fwords are there.
A purfe fhe to a thief expos'd;
At once his ready fingers clos'd.
He opes his fift, the treafure's fled;

He fees a halter in its ftead.

She bids ambition hold a wand; He grafps a hatchet in his hand.

A box of charity fhe fhews:

Blow here; and a church-warden blows.
'Tis vanifh'd with conveyance neat,
And on the table fmoaks a treat.

She thakes the dice, the board the knocks, And from all pockets fills her box.

She next a meagre rake address'd :
This picture fee; her fhape, her breaft!
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 mifer's hand
Grew twenty guineas at command.
She bids his heir the fum retain,
And 'tis a counter now again.
A guinea with her touch you fee
Take ev'ry fhape, but Charity
And not one thing you faw, or drew,
But chang'd from what was firft in view.
The Juggler now, in grief of heart,
With this fubmiffion own'd her art:
Can I fuch matchlefs flight withstand '
How practice hath improv'd your hand!
But now and then I cheat the throng;
You ev'ry day, and all day long.

$165. Fable XLIII. The Council of Horfes UPON a time, a neighing Steed,

Who graz'd among a num'rous breed,
With mutiny had fir'd the train,
And fpread diffenfion through the plain.

On matters that concern'd the ftate
The council met in grand debate.
A Colt, whofe cyc-balls flam'd with ire,
Elate with ftrength and youthful fire,
In hafte ftept forth before the rest,
And thus the lift ning throng addrefs'd:
Good gods! how abject is our race,
Condemn'd to flav'ry and disgrace!
Shall we our fervitude retain,

Because our fires have borne the chain?
Confider, friends, your ftrength and might;
'Tis conqueft to affert your right.
How cumbrous is the gilded coach!
The pride of man is our reproach.
Were we defign'd for daily toil,

To drag the plough-fhare through the foil,
To fweat in harnefs 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 fubmit
To foam and champ the galling bit?
Shall haughty man my back beftride?
Shall the harp fpur provoke my fide?
Forbid it, Heavens! Reject the rein;
Your fhame, your infamy difdain.
Let him the lion firft controul,
And still the tiger's famifh'd growl.
Let us, like them, our freedom claim,
And make him tremble at our name.
A genial nod approv'd the cause,
And all the circle neigh'd applaufe.
When, lo! with grave and folemn pace,
A Steed advanc'd before the race;
With age and long experience wife,
Around he caft his thoughtful eyes;
And, to the murmurs of the train,
Thus fpoke the Neftor of the plain :

Whca

When I had health and ftrength, like you, The toils of fervitude I knew; Now grateful man rewards my pains, And gives me all thefe wide domains. At will I crop the year's increafe; My latter life is reft and peace. I grant, to man we lend our pains, Ard aid him to correct the plains: But doth not he divide the care, Through all the labours of the year ? How many thousand structures rife, To fence us from inclement skies! For us he bears the fultry day, And fores up all our winter's hay. He fows, he reaps the harveft's grain; We fhare the toil, and share the gain. Since ev'ry creature was decreed To aid each other's mutual need, Appeafe your difcontented mind, And act the part by Heaven affign'd.

The tumult ceas'd. The Colt fubmitted; And, like his ancestors, was bitted.

$166. Fable XLIV. The Hound and the Huntsman. IMPERTINENCE at first is borne

With heedlefs flight, or fmiles of fcorn; Teaz'd into wrath, what patience bears The noify fool who perfeveres?

The morning wakes, the Huntfman founds, At once rush forth the joyful hounds. They feck the wood with eager pace; Thro' bush, thro' brier, explore the chace. Now, featter'd wide, they try the plain, And fnuff the dewy tuf in vain. What care, what induftry, what pains! What univerfal filence reigns!

Ringwood, a dog of little fame, Young, pert, and ignorant of game, At once difplays his babbling throat; The pack, regardless of the note, Pursue the fcent; with louder strain He ftill perfifts to vex the train.

The Huntiman to the clamour flies;
The fanacking fath he finartly plies.
His ribs all welk'd, with howling tone
The Puppy thus exprefs'd his moan:

I know the mufic of my tongue
Long fince the pack with envy ftung.
What will not fpite? Thefe bitter finarts
I owe to my fuperior parts.

When pappies prate, the Huntsman cried,
They inew both ignorance and pride:
Fools may our feern, not envy, raife;
For cry is a kind of praile.

Hed not thy forward noily tongues
Proclaim'd thee always in the wrong,
Thou might have mingled with the reft,
And ne'er thy foolish noite confefs'd.
But fools, to talking ever prone,
Are fure to make their follies known,

Thus prudes by characters o'erthrown
Imagine that they raife their own.
Thus fcribblers, covetous of praife,
Think flander can tranfplant the bays.
Beauties and bards have equal pride:
With both all rivals are decried.
Who praifes Lefbia's eyes and feature,
Muft call her fifter aukward creature;
For the kind flattery's fure to charm,
When we fome other nymph difarm.
As in the cool of early day

A Poet fought the fweets of May,
The garden's fragrant breath afcends,
And ev'ry ftalk with odour bends.
A Rofe he pluck'd, he gaz'd, admir'd,
Thus finging, as the Mufe infpir'd:
Go, Rofe, my Chloe's bofom grace :
How happy fhould I prove,
Might I fupply that envied place
With never-fading love!

There, Phoenix-like, beneath her eye,
Involv'd in fragrance, burn and die!
Know, hapless flow'r, that thou thalt find
More fragrant rofes there :

I fee 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, replied
An angry Rofe who grew befide.
Of all mankind you thould not flout us;
What can a Poet do without us?
In ev'ry love-fong rofes bloom;
We lend you colour and perfume.
Does it to Chloe's charms conduce,
To found her praise on our abuse ?
Muft we, to flatter her, be made
To wither, envy, pine, and fade?

§ 168. Fable XLVI. The Cur, the Horfe, and the Shepherd's Dog.

THE lad of all-fufficient merit

With modefty no'er damps his fpirit; Prefuming on his own deferts,

On all alike his tongue exerts;

His noify jokes at random throws,
And pertly spatters friends and foes.
In wit and war the bully race
Contribute to their own difgrace.
Too late the forward youth fhall find
That jokes are fometimes paid in kind;
Or, if they canker in the breaft,
He makes a foe who makes a jeft.

A Village-cur, of fnappifh race,
The perteft Puppy of the place,
Imagin'd that his treble throat
Was bleft with mufic's fweetest note;
In the mid-road he bafking lay,
The yelping nuifance of the way;
For not a creature pafs'd along,
But had a fample of his fong.

Soon as the trotting fteed he hears,
He ftarts, he cocks his dapper ears ;
I

A way