Through all the town his art they prais'd; His cuftom grew, his price was rais'd." Had he the real likenefs fhewn, Would any man the picture own? But when thus happily he wrought, Each found the likeness in his thought.

HOW

§ 154. Fable XIX. The Lion and the Cub. fond are men of rule and place, Who court it from the mean and bafe! These cannot bear an equal nigh, But from fuperior merit fly.

They love the cellar's vulgar joke,
And lofe their hours in ale and smoke.
There o'er fome petty club prefide;
So poor, fo paltry is their pride!

Nay, ev'n with fools whole nights will fit,
In hopes to be fupreme in wit.
If thefe can read, to thefe I write,
To fet their worth in trueft light.
A Lion-cub, of fordid mind,
Avoided all the lion-kind;
Fond of applaufe, he fought the feasts
Of vulgar and ignoble beasts;
With affes all his time he fpent;
Their club's perpetual prefident.
He caught their manners, looks, and airs:
An ass in ev'ry thing but ears!
If e'er his Highnefs meant a joke,
They grinn'd applaufe before he fpoke;
But at each word what fhouts of praife!
Good Gods! how natural he brays!
Elate with flatt'ry and conceit,
He feeks his royal fire's retreat;
Forward, and fond to fhew his parts,
His Highness brays; the Lion starts :
Puppy, that curs'd vociferation
Betrays thy life and converfation:
Coxcombs, an ever-noify race,
Are trumpets of their own difgrace.
Why fo fevere the Cub replies;
Our fenate always held me wife.

How weak is pride! returns the fire;
All fools are vain when fools admire !
But know, what ftupid affes prize,
Lions and noble beafts defpife.

§ 155. Fable XX. The Old Hen and the Cock.
RESTRAIN your child; you'll foon believe,
The text which fays, We fprung from Eve."
As an Old Hen led forth her train,
And feem'd to peck to fhew the grain;
She rak'd the chaff, the fcratch'd the ground,
And glean'd the fpacious yard around;
A giddy chick, to try her wings,
On the well's narrow margin fprings,
And prone the drops. The mother's breast
All day with forrow was poffeft.

A Cock the met; her fon the knew,
And in her heart affection grew.

My fon, fays the, I grant your years Have reach'd beyond a mother's cares.

I fee 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; the fatal place
Is fure perdition to our race.
Print this my counsel on thy breaft;
To the juft gods I leave the rett.

He thank'd her care; yet day by day
His bofom burn'd to disobey;
And ev'ry time the well he faw,
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 defpife;
Or did the doubt my heart was brave,
And therefore this injunction gave?
Or does her harveft ftore the place,
A treasure for her younger race?
And would the thus my fearch prevent?
I ftand refolv'd, and dare th'event.

Thus faid, he mounts the margin's round,
And pries into the depth profound.
He ftretch'd his neck; and from below,
With ftretching neck, advanc'd a foe:
With wrath his ruffl'd plumes he rears,
The foe with ruffl'd plumes appears :
Threat answer'd threat, his fury grew;
Headlong to meet the war he flew;
But when the wat'ry death he found,
He thus lamented as he drown'd:

I ne'er had been in this condition, But for my mother's prohibition.

$156. Fable XXI. The Rat-Catcher and Cats.
THE
HE Rats by night fuch inifchief did,
Betty was ev'ry morning chid:
They undermin❜d whole fides of bazon ;
Her cheefe was fapp'd, her tarts were taken;
Her pafties, fenc'd with thick eft paste,
Were all demolish'd and laid wate.
She curs'd the Cat for want of duty,
Who left her foes a conftant booty.
An Engineer of noted skill
Engag'd to ftop the gwing ill.

From room to room he now furveys
Their haunts, their works, their fecret ways;
And whence their nightly fally's made,
Finds where they 'fcape an ambufcade,

An envious Cat, from place to place,
Unfeen, attends his silent pace.
She faw that, if his trade went on,
The purring race must be undone;
So fecretly removes his baits,
And ev'ry ftratagem Jefeats.

Again he fets the poifon'd toils,
And Pufs again the labour foils.

What foe (to fruftrate my defigns) My fchemes thus nightly countermines ? Incens'd, he cries: "this very hour "This wretch thall bleed beneath my pow'r." So faid, a pond'rous trap he brought; And in the fact poor Pufs was caught.

G 3

"Smuggler,"

Judge not unheard, the Maftiff cry'd, But weigh the caufe of either fide. 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.

§ 163. Fable XXVIII. The Perfian, the Sun, and the Cloud.

IS

Angel.

Is there no hope? the Sick Man faid.

The filent doctor fhook his head, And took his leave with figns of forrow, Defpairing of his fee to-morrow.

When thus the Man, with gafping breath:
I feel the chilling wound of death:
Since I muft 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 felf-defence in each profeffion:
Sure, felf-defence is no tranfgreffion.
The little portion in my hands,
By good fecurity on lands,
Is well increas'd. If, unawares,
My juftice to myfelf and heirs
Hath let my debtor rot in jail,
For want of good fufficient 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 fhown.

An Angel came. Ah friend! he cry'd,
No more in flatt'ring hope confide.
Can thy good deeds in former times
Outweigh the balance of thy crimes ?
What widow or what orphan prays
To crown thy life with length of days?
A pious action's in thy pow'r,
Embrace with joy the happy hour.
Now, while you draw the vital air,
Prove your intention is fincere.
This inftant give a hundred pound;
Your neighbours want, and you abound.

But why fuch hate, the Sick Man whines; Who knows as yet what Heav'n designs? Perhaps I may recover still;

That fum and more are in my will.

Fool, fays the Vifion, now 'tis plain, Your life, your foul, your heav'n was gain. From ev'ry fide, with all your night, You ferap'd, and ferap'd beyond your right; And after death would fain atone, By giving what is not your own. While there is life there's hopes, he cry'd; Then why fuch hafte? So groan'd, and dy'd.

Thus fhadow owes its birth to light.

As proftrate to the God of day,
With heart devout, a Perfian lay,
His invocation thus begun :

Parent of light, all-feeing Sun,
Prolific beam, whofe rays difpenfe
The various gifts of Providence,
Accept our praife, our daily pray❜r,
Smile on our fields, and blefs the year!

A Cloud, who mock'd his grateful tongue,
The day with fudden dark nefs hung;
With pride and envy fwell'd aloud,
A voice thus thunder'd from the Cloud :
Weak is this gaudy God of thine,
Whom I at will forbid to fhine.
Shall I nor vows nor incenfe know?
Where praife is due, the praife bestow.

With fervent zeal the Perfian mov'd,
Thus the proud calumny reprov'd:
It was that God, who claims my pray'r,
Who gave thee birth, and rais'd thee there;
When o'er his beams the veil is thrown,
Thy fubftance is but plainer fhown.
A paffing gale, a puff of wind,
Difpels thy thickeit troops combin'd.

The gale arofe; the vapour, toft
(The sport of winds) in air, was loft.
The glorious orb the day refines;
Thus envy breaks, thus merit fhines.

§ 164. Fable XXIX. The Fox at the point of Death.

A

FOX in life's extreme decay,
Weak, fick, and faint, expiring lay;

All appetite had left his maw,
And age difarm'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, fons! from evil ways depart;
My crimes lie heavy on my heart.
See, fee, the murder'd geefe appear!
Why are thofe bleeding turkies there?
Why all around this cackling train,
Who haunt my ears for chickens flain?

The hungry Foxes round them ftar'd, And for the promis'd feaft prepar’d.

Where, Sir, is all this dainty cheer?
Nor turkey, goose, nor hen is here.
Thefe are the phantoms of your brain,
And
your fons lick their lips in vain.

O glu

O gluttons! fays the drooping fire, Reftrain inordinate defire. Your liqu'rish tafte you fhall deplore, When peace of confcience is no more. Does not the hound betray our pace, And gins and guns deftroy our race? Thieves dread the fearching eye of pow'r, And never feel the quiet hour. Old age (which few of us fhall know) Now puts a period to my woe. Would you true happiness attain, Let honefty your paffions rein; So live in credit and esteem, And the good name you loft, 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 fon to fon :
To us defcends the long difgrace;
And infamy hath mark'd our race.
Though we, like harmless fheep, fhould feed,
Honeft in thought, in word, and deed;
Whatever hen-rooft is decreaft,
We shall be thought to share the feast.
The charge fhall never be believ'd;
A loft 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.

$165. Fable XXX. The Setting Dog and the Partridge.

ΤΗ HE ranging Dog the stubble tries,

And fearches ev'ry breeze that flies;
The fcent grows warm; with cautious fear
He creeps, and points the covey near;
The men, in filence, far behind,
Conscious of game, the net unbind.

A Partridge, with experience wife,
The fraudful preparation spies:
She mocks their toils, alarms her brood;
The covey fprings, and feeks the wood;
But ere her certain wing the tries,
Thus to the creeping Spaniel cries:

Thou fawning flave to man's deceit,
Thou pimp of lux'ry, sneaking cheat,
Of thy whole fpecies thou disgrace;
Dogs fhall difown thee of their race!
For if I judge their native parts,
They're born with open honeft hearts;
And ere they ferv'd man's wicked ends,
Were gen'rous foes, or real friends.

When thus the Dog, with fcornful smile :
Secure of wing, thou dar'ft revile.
Clowns are to polifh'd manners blind;
How ign'rant is the ruftic mind!
My worth, fagacious courtiers fee,
And to preferment rife, like me.
The thriving pimp, who beauty fets,
Hath oft enhanc'd a nation's debts :
Friend fets his friend, without regard;
And minifters his skill reward:
Thus train'd by man, I learnt his ways,
And growing favour feafts my days.

I might have guefs'd, the Partridge faid, The place where you were train'd and fed; Servants are apt, and in a trice

Ape to a hair their mafter's vice.
You came from court, you fay, adieu:
She said, and to the covey flew.

§ 166. Fable XXXI. The Universal Apparition.

A

RAKE, by ev'ry paffion rul'd,

With ev'ry vice his youth had cool'd; Difcafe his tainted blood affails;

His fpirits droop, his vigout fails :
With fecret ills at home he pines,
And, like infirm old age, declines.

As twing'd with pain he penfive fits,
And raves, and prays, and fivears by fits;
A ghaftly phantom, lean and wan,
Before him rofe, and thus began:

My name, perhaps, hath reach'd your ear;
Attend, and be advis'd by Care.
Nor love, nor honour, wealth, nor pow'r,
Can give the heart a cheerful hour
When health is loft. Be timely wife:
With health all tafte of pleasure flies.

Thus faid, the phantom disappears,
The weary counfel wak'd his fears;
He now from all excefs abstains;
With phyfic purifies his veins;
And, to procure a fober life,
Refolves to venture on a wife.

But now again the Sprite afcends;
Where'er he walks his ear attends;
Infinuates that beauty's frail";
That perfeverance must prevail;
With jealoufies his brain inflames,
And whispers all her lovers names.
In other hours the reprefents
His household charge, his annual rents,
Increafing debts, perplexing duns,
And nothing for his younger fons.

Strait all his thought to gain he turns,
And with the thirft of lucre burns.
But when poffefs'd of fortune's ftore,
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,
Infefts his dreams, or wakes his nights.
How shall he chace this hideous guest ?
Pow'r may perhaps protect his rest.
To pow'r he rofe: again the Sprite
Befets him morning, noon, and night;
Talks of Ambition's tott'ring feat;
How Envy perfecutes the great;
Of rival hate, of treach'rous friends,
And what difgrace his fall attends.

The court he quits, to fly from Care,
And fecks the peace of rural air :
His groves, his fields, amus'd his hours;
He prun'd his trees, he rais'd his flow'rs.
But Care again his fteps purfues;
Warns him of blafts, of blighting dews,
Of plund'ring infects, fnails, and rains,
And droughts that ftarv'd the labour'd plai