This kite, by daily rapine fed,
My hens' annoy, my turkeys' 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 wise;
For public 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 pow'r and might,
Thus to condemn a hawk or kite,
When thou perhaps, carniv'rous sinner,
Hadst pullets yesterday for dinner!

Hold! cried the Clown, with passion heated,
Shall kites and men alike be treated?
When Heaven the world with creatures stor'd,
Man was ordain'd their sov'reign lord.

Thus tyrants boast, the sage replied,
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."

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 applied?
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 heaven '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 desert I'll read my fable.

Betwixt her swagging 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 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,

• Garth's Dispensary.

Fell

prone; o'erturn'd the panniers lay, And her mash'd eggs bestrew'd the way.

She, sprawling in the yellow road,

Rail'd, swore, and curs'd: 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 clothes.
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.

$115.

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 our 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 bless'd, how envied were our life,
Could we but 'scape the poult'rer's knife!
But man, curs'd man! on Turkey preys,
And Christmas shortens all our days;
Sometimes with oysters we combine,
Sometimes assist the sav'ry chine.
From the low peasant to the lord,
The Turkey smokes on ev'ry board.
Sure men for gluttony are curs'd,
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
Control thy more voracious bill,
Nor for a breakfast nations kill.

;

§ 116.
THE Man to Jove his suit preferr'd:
He begg'd a wife; his pray'r was heard.
Jove wonder'd at his bold addressing:
For how precarious is the blessing!

FABLE XXXIX. The Father and,
Jupiter.

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

No more solicitous he
grew,

And set 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'r;
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 favor teach him to aspire,
Till he the step of pow'r ascend,
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 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 increase,
He neither wakes nor sleeps in peace;
In fancied want (a wretch complete!)
He starves, and yet he dares not eat.

The next to sudden honors grew:
The thriving art of courts he knew:
He reach'd the height of pow'r 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 Heaven 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.

§ 117. FABLE XL. The Two Monkeys.
THE learned, full of inward pride,
The Fops of outward show 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 medley 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 critics had a sourer air:

They fore'd their way through draggled folks,
Who gap'd to catch jack-pudding's jokes ;
Then took their tickets for the show,
And got by chance the foremost row.

To see their grave, observing face,
Provok'd a laugh through 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 whirls the flip-flap round,
With somersets 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 arm ascends:
The crowd 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 mimics 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 fantastic is the sight,
To meet men always bolt upright,
Because we sometimes walk on two!
I hate the imitating crew.

:

$118. FABLE XLI. The Owl and the Farmer.

AN Owl of grave deport and mien,

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;
Smoke, nod, and talk with voice profound,
And fix the fate of Europe round.
Sheaves pil'd on sheaves hid all the floor:
At dawn of morn, to view his store,
The Farmer came. The hooting guest
His self-importance thus express'd;"

Reason in man is mere 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 stamp'd upon my face.
Whene'er to visit light 1 deign,
What flocks of fowl compose my train!

Like slaves, they crowd my flight behind,
And own me of superior kind.

The Farmer laugh'd, and thus replied:
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 blockhead, be not vain
Of what thou call'st thy slaves and train.
Few follow wisdom, or her rules;
Fools in derision follow fools.

$119. 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 fingers' ends.

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

Is this then he so fam'd for sleight?
Can this slow bungler cheat your sight?
Dares he with me dispute the prize?
I leave it to impartial eyes.

Provok'd, the Juggler cried, '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 show'rs of gold:
And now his iv'ry eggs are told;
But when from thence the hen he draws,
Amaz'd spectators hum applause.

Vice now stepp'd forth, and took the place With all the forms of his grimace.

This magic 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 magic 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 fist, 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 churchwarden blows.

'Tis vanish'd with conveyance neat, And on the table smokes a treat.

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

She next a meagre rake address'd:
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 sum 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 sleight withstand?
How practise hath improv'd your hand!
But now and then I cheat the throng;
You ev'ry day, and all day long.

§ 120. FABLE XLIII. The Council of Horse.
UPON a time, a neighing Steed,
Who graz'd among a num'rous breed,
With mutiny had fir'd the train,
And spread dissension through the plain.
On matters that concern'd the state
The council met in grand debate.
A Colt, whose eye-balls flam'd with ire,
Elate with strength and youthful fire,
In haste stepp'd forth before the rest,
And thus the list'ning throng address'd:
Good gods! how abject is our race,
Condemn'd to slav'ry and disgrace!
Shall we our servitude retain,
Because our sires have borne the chain?
Consider, friends, your strength and might,
'Tis conquest to assert your right.
How cumbrous is the gilded coach!
The pride of man is our reproach.
Were we design'd for daily toil,

To drag the plough-share through the soil,
To sweat in harness through the road,

Το
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 piovoke my side?
Forbid it, Heavens! Reject the rein;
Your shame, your infamy disdain.
Let him the lion first control,
And still the tiger's famish'd growl.
Let us, like them, our freedom claim,
And make him tremble at our name.
A gen'ral 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 labors 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 grain;
We share the toil, and share the gain.
Since ev'ry creature was decreed
To aid each other's mutual need,
Appease your discontented mind,
And act the part by Heaven assign'd.
The tumult ceas'd. The Colt submitted;
And, like his ancestors, was bitted.

IMPERTINENCE at first is borne
With heedless slight, or smiles of scorn;
Teas'd into wrath, what patience bears
The noisy fool who perseveres?

The morning wakes, the Huntsman sounds,
At once rush forth the joyful hounds.
They seek the wood with eager pace;
Through bush, through brier, explore the chase.
Now, scatter'd wide, they try the plain,
And snuff the dewy turf in vain.
What care, what industry, what pains!
What universal silence reigns!

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

The Huntsman to the clamor flies;
The smacking lash he smartly plies.
His ribs all whelk'd, with howling tone
The Puppy thus express'd his moan:

I know the music of my tongue
Long since the pack with envy stung.
'What will not spite? These bitter smarts
I owe to my superior parts.

When puppies prate, the Huntsman cried,
They show both ignorance and pride;
Fools may our scorn, not envy raise;
For envy is a kind of praise.

Had not thy forward noisy tongue Proclaim'd thee always in the wrong, Thou mightst have mingled with the rest, And ne'er thy foolish noise confess'd.

But fools, to talking ever prone,
Are sure to make their follies known.

§ 122. 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 scribblers, covetous of praise,
Think slander can transplant the bays.
Beauties and bards have equal pride:
With both all rivals are decried.
Who praises Lesbia's eyes and feature,
Must call her sister awkward creature ;
For the kind flattery'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 fragant 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 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 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, replied
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 color and perfume.
Does it to Chloe's charms conduce,
To found her praise on our abuse?
Must we, to flatter her, be made
To wither, envy, pine, and fade?

§ 123. 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 music's sweetest note;