ROYAL FABLES.
By FRANCIS GENTLEMAN.
—prudenti vitam consilio monet.
PHOED. Prol.
TU MARCELLUS eris—
VIRG.
LONDON: Printed for T. BECKET and P. A. DE HONDT, near Surry-Street, in the Strand. MDCCLXVI.
To his Royal Highness GEORGE PRINCE of WALES.
SIR!
THE Author of these Fables flatters himself that the Principles of a steadfast Loyalty, imbided in his earliest days, from the example and instruction of a Father, who had the Honour to serve your ROYAL HIGHNESS'S illustrious Ancestors near fifty years in a Military station; Principles ripened and established by a conviction that the Public welfare depends on the increase and prosperity of the August House of BRUNSWIC; may claim some indulgence for the many imperfections of a composition which he thus presumes to lay at your ROYAL HIGHNESS'S Feet.
If a laudable desire to sow the seeds of moral Truth; if an ardent zeal for our
civil
and
religious
LIBERTIES; if a sincere attachment to his MAJESTY'S person; whose mild Government preserves to us those invaluable blessings; whose paternal care and bright example afford us the happy prospect of their being transmitted to latest posterity—if motives such as these, shall appear to have warmed the Author's breast and guided his Pen, in the course of this production; it will greatly flatter his Honest Pride, whose ambition it is to approve, and to have the Honour of subscribing himself, with unfeigned zeal and humility,
Your ROYAL HIGHNESS'S most devoted and most obedient servant, FRANCIS GENTLEMAN.
CONTENTS.
Fable I. VIRTUE and FAME, Page 1
Fable II. The NILE and the SEA, 7
Fable III. The JUST LION, 14
Fable IV. The MOUNTAIN and CLOUD, 19
Fable V. The EAGLE and JAY, 24
Fable VI. The FARMER and SPARROWS, 31
Fable VII. The KNIGHT ERRANT, 34
Fable VIII. The BEAU and BUTTERFLY, 40
Fable IX. SOCRATES and the BEAU, 44
Fable X. The SWALLOW and PIKE, 49
Fable XI. The BIRTH DAY, 55
Fable XII. The LION and FOX, 61
Fable XIII. The PHILOSOPHER and RATTLE, 69
Fable XIV. The COCK and POINTER, 75
Fable XV. The CYNIC and FASHION, 78
Fable XVI. The ROYAL DOVE, 85
Fable XVII. The ROMAN and BARBARIAN, Page 89
Fable XVIII. The POLITIC LION, 94
Fable XIX. The CHARIOTEER, 99
Fable XX. The ANGEL and HERMIT, 104
Fable XXI. The PROUD ASS, 112
Fable XXII. The LAWYER and FOX, 117
Fable XXIII. The CONQUEROR and CAPTIVE, 124
Fable XXIV. The MAGPYE and LARK, 131
Fable XXV. The FINE LADY and the SUN, 137
Fable XXVI. The LION, BEAR and APE, 145
Fable XXVII. The COCK and PEACOCK, 151
Fable XXVIII. The WASP and BEES, 155
Fable XXIX. The POET and PEN, 163
Fable XXX. The MILK WHITE MOUSE, 170
. Fitzmaurice inv!
I. Taylor sculp.
ROYAL FABLES.
FABLE I. VIRTUE AND FAME.
SOME ages since, it so fell out,
That meeting at OLYMPIC rout;
(For goddesses have had their day,
To be as modern ladies gay;)
Two females, mostly known by name,
One VIRTUE call'd—the other FAME,
Disputed who should lead, or follow,
Into the presence of APOLLO.
The matter, after verbal fight,
Was brought before the God of light;
When FAME, remark'd for nimble tongue,
Addressing first, complain'd of wrong.
Shall I, declaim'd the winged fair,
Who boast such eyes, so fine an air;
With almost ev'ry beauty grac'd,
Be thus in competition plac'd,
With such a formal, homely creature,
Without one fashionable feature?
Shall I, to whom the
Great
resort,
Whom
Monarchs
have been proud to court,
Provoking fate, midst War's alarms,
To gain possession of my charms;
Precedence yield to one so mean,
Amongst the
great
so seldom seen?
Whom rustic
cots
can better please,
Than dear, inchanting
palaces?
The very thought is fill'd with shame,
And judgment gives in right of FAME.
She paus'd—APOLLO then desir'd
Such answer as the cause requir'd;
Which VIRTUE thus, with modest grace,
An easy shape, and cherub face,
Declar'd before the court in brief,
Thence justly claiming fit relief.
This girlish female, God of day,
To knaves and fools a frequent prey,
Of high connections boasts in vain,
Light phantoms of her idle brain:
Greatness you'll own—without my care,
A baseless castle in the air;
And rural
cots,
where I resort,
Much nobler than a vicious
court.
'Tis true, she posts the world around,
And fills it with a mighty sound;
O'er mankind rules in various spheres,
And leads them captive by the ears;
Yet what of this, when oft she flies
To propagate the grossest lies,
And wounds, in blackest guilt's defence,
The cause of spotless innocence?
Here then let ill tim'd diff'rence end,
On worth and justice I depend.
The judge who heard with much respect,
His sentence pass'd to this effect;
Spoke all his thoughts, without disguise,
Th' impartial CAMDEN of the skies.
VIRTUE no doubt may justly claim
Precedence from contending FAME;
Tho' monumental falshoods pass
With fools, because engrav'd on brass:
Tho' villains of gigantic size,
In marble statues vainly rise:
Tho' titles, coronets, and state,
Like gew-gaws, deck th' unworthy
great:
Tho' venal authors gild a name,
Which sacred truth would brand with shame:
A cheated people's loud huzzas,
With all the farce of earthly praise;
By VIRTUE unsupported fail,
And vanish, like the passing gale.
Then, madam FAME, deceitful beauty,
'Tis fit that you confess your duty;
For, tho' exalted by a throne,
You cannot long exist alone;
Virtue, observe, I recommend,
As kindest parent, truest friend:
Beneath whose just, and gentle sway,
You'll live 'till time itself decay.
I look into the womb of time,
And view a yet unnotic'd clime;
By Neptune's azure flood enclos'd,
Where harrass'd freedom safe repos'd,
Shall gain you with a gracious smile,
To live as friends in BRITAIN'S isle;
To beam your lustre round her throne,
And mark her monarch all your own.
FABLE II. THE NILE AND THE SEA.
LIFE a dependant chain appears,
With links to join its sev'ral spheres;
Shew judging reason when you will,
One plac'd on high, there's higher still;
'Till strain'd progression mounts the sky,
And melts in vast infinity.
Pride, like a prism, such tints reveals
As Wisdom's naked eye conceals;
How idly vain then mortal man,
Whose fleeting life is but a span,
Tho' rais'd on Fortune's boldest wing,
A rich, a brave, a happy king,
Who thinks, with self-sufficient spirit,
All centers in his boundless merit;
Who, void of gratitude and sense,
Disclaims parental PROVIDENCE;
Whence all above, and all below,
Wealth, happiness, and courage flow?
The king of rivers, sev'n-mouth NILE,
Which yearly floods the neighbouring soil;
Which loads with grain the teeming earth,
And gives a thousand harvests birth—
Once, like a human Coxcomb, thought
His pow'r, alone, those blessings wrought—
What is, he cried, the thirsty Sea
In competition set with me?
My springs, my streams support its tide,
Whose mighty gulph must, unsupplied,
Turn to a wild, and barren shore;
The boasting watry world no more.
To scatter blessings round, I reign,
And fertilize a vast domain;
Which wisely annual homage pays,
In fit returns of grateful praise;
While yonder congregated flood
Does none, or very little good—
And yet its haughty billows rise,
As if to brave th' unheeding skies.
What
stoic
here could check a smile,
To hear the SEA compar'd with NILE?
The self-sufficient river spoke,
In sounds, like clouds of thunder broke,
'Till ev'n its CROCODILES began
To vie with huge LEVIATHAN;
And thought they must in reason be
Of greater size and quality.
Old OCEAN heard, and tho' disdain
Had best repaid a speech so vain;
He chose, with condescension mild,
Thus to rebuke his eldest child.
Restrain, presuming brook, thy pride;
Though thou, and all thy springs, were dry'd,
Thy petty tribute hardly miss'd,
In glory I should still exist.
Who gives the SUN'S exhaling beams
The moisture to supply thy streams?
Who gives the fleecy clouds their rain,
To sprinkle thirsty earth again?
Thou but return'st what I have lent,
To form a fruitful continent.
Rais'd in thy own opinion high,
Thou think'st not, that beyond the sky
There dwells a Pow'r, a gen'ral source,
Who gave the elements their course;
Who gave the lower world its birth,
Of water framing it, and earth;
Who fix'd to each the proper bound,
And mantled them with Aether round;
Who mark'd the glorious Sun his way,
Who bid it shine, and give the day;
Who spangled o'er with gems of light,
The mild
cerulean
robe of night;
Who gave, in his omnipotence,
To beasts their strength, to man his sense;
Who cloath'd the birds with plumed grace,
Who fishes form'd a scaly race;
Who fix'd the seasons varying round,
With diff'rent fruits, and emblems crown'd;
The eye-enliv'ning, pregnant Spring,
With vegetation on its wing;
The bridegroom Summer deck'd with flow'rs,
And blooming Nature's strongest pow'rs;
Autumn in golden honours clad,
The peasant's humble hopes to glad;
Hoar Winter, with its chilly train
Of earth-refreshing frosts and rain.
'Tis PROVIDENCE which all bestows;
No atom self-existent grows;
'Twas PROVIDENCE created me,
And hence was form'd a source for thee;
'Tis PROVIDENCE that gives again
Thy borrow'd waters to the main;
'Tis PROVIDENCE suspends them high,
Condens'd in clouds 'twixt earth and sky;
'Tis PROVIDENCE, with boundless pow'rs,
That melts them to propitious show'rs;
From PROVIDENCE all blessings flow,
Which animated beings know;
'Tis PROVIDENCE which reigns thro' all;
Which guides, and shields this earthly ball.
Content with thy exalted state,
Learn wisdom—and be truly great—
Remember, thy majestic flood
Th' ETERNAL gave for others good;
Not for thyself alone design'd,
But to enrich and bless mankind.—
Perform, on Nature's stage, thy part,
Well satisfied with what thou art;
Wisely support thy rank and spirit,
By aiming at superior merit;
Nor, vainly seeking higher stile,
In claiming more, be less than NILE;
Like human fools who with such care
Build baseless castles in the air;
Which rise at magic Folly's call,
And with the breath of Reason fall.
Thus venerable OCEAN said—
And sunk beneath the waves his head.
FABLE III. THE JUST LION.
A FOX impell'd by hunger's cries,
Had made a LAMB his sacrifice,
When just as ev'ry thing was fit,
To revel on his dainty bit,
A lordly PANTHER, passing by,
Beheld it with voracious eye;
And, being nobly born, of course
The FOX'S dinner seiz'd by force,
With this remark—Tho' peasants starve,
PEERS, as they please, should always CARVE.
REYNARD, thro' fear must needs obey,
So lick'd his chaps, and slunk away;
Yet still tho' not in body strong,
His feeling heart would bear no wrong;
To LEO'S court with speed he flew,
There standing in the Monarch's view,
Stated at full th' oppressive case,
With simple truth, and piteous face;
Concluding thus,—My Prince, I know,
Will most impartial justice show;
Wherefore, to his decision, I
Submit my life, and property;
The weak, the nameless, and the poor,
Where VIRTUE reigns, must be secure.
The LION heard with honest wonder,
And cried, If I permit such plunder,
The monarchy of BEASTS will then
Degen'rate into that of MEN—
But other views shall guide my sway,
And ev'ry rank our laws obey.
Summon LORD PANTHER—straight he came—
And boldly answer'd to his name;
Confess'd the injur'd FOX'S charge,
In all its sev'ral points at large;
Yet, confidently, seem'd to think,
That vulgar creature's meat and drink
Should to indulge his want or whim,
Just as he chose, belong to HIM.
You know, my LIEGE, continues he,
I'm one of noble progeny,—
Who, if occasion urg'd me, could
Alliance prove to
Royal
blood—
Shall paltry REYNARD dare complain,
Nor meet, as sure he ought, disdain?
Titles
and
rank
are my defence,
But what can save his
insolence?
For my own part, I am content
His crime should be his punishment;
Then let him, gracious LIEGE, I pray,
This once go unchastis'd away.
The LION, worthy of his place,
With sparkling eye, and awful grace,
Spoke thus, and bade his court attend—
This PANTHER, once my valu'd friend,
Convicted, thus, of proud oppression,
By evidence, and self-confession,
Howe'er he thinks the action light,
I banish from my heart, and sight.
Shall Noble Birth from justice save,
Shall titles serve to screen a Knave?
Shall Subjects be afraid to speak,
And shall the strong devour the weak?
The chain of prudent order broke,
Authority becomes a joke;
And thus applied, howe'er sublime,
PRE-EMINENCE becomes a CRIME.
It never shall, my friends, be said,
When dust entombs this Royal Head,
To stain our Name, in future years,
That LEO shelter'd lawless PEERS—
Subjects, observe what I decide,
To shame, and sting dishonest pride;
This PANTHER on the FOX shall wait
Six tedious months, in servile state;
And when occasion gives the charge,
Still watch for prey, or hunt at large;
But ne'er presume to taste a bit,
'Till REYNARD graciously thinks fit.
SELF-KNOWLEDGE thus a friend may be,
And blunt the edge of TYRANNY;
May teach him, that the lordly part
Is seated in a noble heart;
Which rather would itself endure
Some pangs of WANT, than rob the POOR.
If e'er, to shame our laws, and sense,
I meet again such violence,
Justice shall doom severer fate,
To punish the licentious great;
Nor will I, mark me, Subjects, own
Ought noble, but the Good alone.
FABLE IV. THE MOUNTAIN AND CLOUD.
A Mountain, which might justly vie
With ATLAS to support the sky,
For ages had, with boundless pride,
O'erlook'd the plains on either side;
And thought, from his prodigious birth,
He ought to rule their humbler earth;
Tho' grac'd with corn, and fruit, and flocks,
In contrast to his barren rocks,
On which, instead of ought that grows,
Hung tempests dark, and endless snows.
One sullen care—his folly's doom—
Still rankled in his flinty womb:
That while the radiant source of day,
Beam'd o'er the vales with kindly ray,
An envious cloud, eclipsing light,
Wrapp'd his majestic head in night.
Impatient of suppos'd disgrace,
And fond to show his hideous face,
Like some amongst the human kind,
To all their grossest failings blind,
Who self-sufficiently reveal
What prudence wisely would conceal;
He thunder'd forth his plaint aloud
Against the dark impending cloud.
How long, foul vapour, wilt thou dare
To shroud my brows, and taint my air?
Shall I, who raging tempests sconr,
Tho' on the wings of light'ning borne;
Shall I, whose strength can never fail,
Tho' ev'n a deluge should assail,
Be thus obscur'd?—vile cloud, away!
And give me to the eye of day.
Stung with this insolent address
The CLOUD replied—I must confess,
Gigantic neighbour, what you speak,
Declares that you, tho' great, are weak;
What worth or beauty canst thou show,
That's equal to the plains below?
What lab'ring oxen till thy soil?
What harvests pay the peasants toil?
What fruits, what herbage grace thy sides?
What useful river o'er thee glides?
What forests nod upon thy brows,
Ne'er ruffled by industrious ploughs?
Why, steril mass of rugged stone,
With skin of thriftless moss o'ergrown,
Shouldst thou proclaim thy giant size,
As if from thence desert could rise,
Or make objections to my shade,
Suspended o'er thy tow'ring head,
Without reflecting 'tis the fate
Attending on superior state,
To have or me, or some such other,
Perhaps a tempest-breeding brother,
Around by way of caution glide,
To check the swell of monst'rous pride?
While humble, and contented plains,
An emblem of their village swains,
With justice claim, in being less,
A larger share of happiness
In their obscure, un-envied station,
Than in thy cloud topt exaltation;
Which, 'spite of all the strength you boast,
In sudden ruin may be lost.
Thus spake the CLOUD, as if inspir'd,
And with a passing gale retir'd;
When straight a subterraneous sound,
Like distant thunder, bellow'd round;
The MOUNTAIN felt convulsive pain,
And trembling shook thro' ev'ry vein.
FABLE V. THE EAGLE AND JAY.
AN EAGLE whom we soon might prove
Descended from the bird of JOVE,
Had we or time, or cause to trace
The progress of his royal race;
Diminish'd fame, and weaken'd sway,
By placing friendship on a JAY;
A bird who, like dissembling man,
Play'd well the game of—
Cat
in
Pan.
Not one of all the feather'd kind
So nicely knew the Monarch's mind;
Not one, with such persuasive art,
Could learn the fecrets of his heart;
Nor gain, with much superior sense
And loyalty, such confidence.
This prattling fav'rite often slew
In quest of news; which false, or true,
He whisper'd to his master's ear,
Whose greatest weakness was to hear.
The JAY, to serve each selfish end,
Appear'd a very sanguine friend;
Would oft lament that subject hearts
Were pregnant with destructive arts;
That nothing could, but watchful eyes,
Prevent deep laid conspiracies;
Declar'd he knew that many birds
Were noted for disloyal words;
Who therefore ought to feel disgrace,
In banishment from court and place;
Urging his Prince, with rig'rous claws,
To put in force Tyrannic laws.
With mischief-working hints like these
He rous'd such groundless jealousies,
That ev'ry night the Eagle's dreams
Were haunted with seditious schemes;
His tortur'd fancy often view'd,
By diff'rent deaths his life pursued;
His sceptre broke, his throne o'erturn'd,
His race destroy'd, and palace burn'd;
'Till made by perturbation sour,
He felt each pain of thorny pow'r,
And bow'd beneath the cumbrous weight,
Of friendless, solitary state;
With one sole blessing, that the JAY
Paid faithful homage to his sway.
His truest friends perceiv'd him shy,
Suspicion gloom'd his piercing eye;
A speechless, cold, and distant state
Made loyalty and love abate;
Disorder crept throughout his realm,
While he sat trembling at the helm;
Yet none presum'd to ask the reason,
Lest
Freedom
might be construed
Treason.
At length the Monarch, wearied out,
Began to entertain some doubt;
Whether his friend might not improve
On trifles, thro' excessive love;
As apprehension oft has made
A giant of an empty shade.
Possess'd of this, incog he flew,
And wisely took a gen'ral view;
Some plaints he heard, but soon descry'd
They sprung from his suspicious pride;
And met upon the whole content,
Where'er his pleasing course he bent,
To find himself, thro' ev'ry wood,
On ev'ry plain, and ev'ry flood,
Tho' censur'd in his regal part,
Still monarch of each subject heart.
At length, as with returning night
He homeward wing'd his rapid flight;
Skirting along a lonely wood,
Near which an ancient castle stood,
From its declining moss-clad wall,
By trembling age prepar'd to fall,
A well known voice assail'd his ear,
He curv'd his course, and drawing near,
Perceiv'd the JAY, in this address,
The deep designing knave confess.
You think me loyal, as I pay
My courtly visits ev'ry day;
But penetration ne'er will deem
Us levee-hunters what we seem;
And, on my word, Sir FALCON, know,
My friendship is but outward show;
Were I the honest truth to own,
I wish to see you mount the throne;
Our EAGLE'S but a silly fowl,
Not two degrees above an Owl,
Without the least pretence on earth
To royalty, except his birth;
Then let us find some specious cause,
(Suppose our liberties, and laws)
To seize his crown, and in his stead,
To place it on your abler head.
I have a tongue both quick and loud,
Let me harangue the gaping croud
With promises—sure bait for fools—
Who serve as politician's tools,
I'll bring about a revolution,
To mend our shatter'd constitution.
With honest rage the Eagle warm'd,
And with death-dealing talons arm'd,
Pounc'd unperceiv'd upon the JAY,
And snatch'd his Felon-life away,
This sacrifice to justice made,
The injur'd EAGLE wisely said;
I find at length this prudent truth,
That choice of friends to age, or youth,
Is, from the cottage to the court,
A matter of the last import.
From me let future Monarchs learn
By their own senses to discern;
Nor exercise unsafe command,
By KNOWLEDGE gain'd at SECOND HAND.
FABLE VI. THE FARMER AND SPARROWS.
A FARMER saw, with much regret,
Some SPARROWS in his field of wheat;
And taking up a plunder'd ear,
Exclaim'd in rage, What havock's here!
For this have I manur'd the soil,
And till'd it with laborious toil?
These feather'd Epicures—a curse
To each industrious Farmer's purse,—
I'll try, without the least delay,
To kill, to maim, or fright away.
The thing no sooner said than done,
He brought with double charge his gun;
Then, Plund'rers, cried, resign your breath
To leaden messengers of Death;
And as his thoughtless rage inspir'd,
Amongst the corn and birds he fir'd.
Six victims fell!—a joyful sight—
He ran, and seiz'd them with delight;
Aha, he cries, at length y'are caught,
Your dainties have been dearly bought;
From hence your brother thieves may know,
Justice is sure, tho' sometimes slow.
One SPARROW, who had yet some breath,
Replied, You triumph in our death;
We lie before your vengeful eyes,
No doubt a pleasing sacrifice;
Yet, foolish mortal, see, and own,
The unthought mischief you have done;
Much more, tho' rashly meant for good,
Than twenty times our number cou'd;
Besides, surviving friends will more,
Revenging us, invade your store.
What does your reason then avail,
If only weigh'd in passion's scale?
We lose a doubtful life, 'tis true,
But certain good is lost to you.
The FARMER look'd, when, lo, he saw
Full fourscore yards of earless straw!
For such a tract the shot had made,
He saw with grief, and sighing said;
I am a fool, I own the name,
I doubly feel the loss and shame;
And find the man by passion wrought,
Who turns to action sudden thought,
Instead of profit, or content,
Will find occasion to repent;
Then why should anger reason fetter?
Reflection would have taught me better.
FABLE VII. THE KNIGHT ERRANT.
IN former times (much worse they were,
Than those which give us vital air;
For always be it understood,
The present are both great and good;)
There liv'd, so says our tale, a wight,
Whom scruples made an ERRANT KNIGHT,
A more romantic headed ass
Than QUIXOTE, CHARLES, or HUDIBRAS,
Who, in his moral feelings nice,
Resolv'd to quell the monster VICE;
A greater Hydra ten degrees
Than THAT destroy'd by HERCULES.
Arm'd, as he fancied, Cap-a-pie,
With Reason, and Morality;
Stronger, tho' light, to take the field,
Than AJAX' boasted sev'n-fold shield;
A court he sought, as proper soil
To exercise his pious toil.
SINCERITY, devoid of state,
Conducted to the palace gate,
And seeking entrance, gave her name;
CORRUPTION ask'd from whom she came;
Which told, he shook his hoary head,
And with a shrug important said,
Admittance there could only be
For those of highest quality:
Yet stretching forth his itching palm,
With features and expression calm,
He hinted favour to the KNIGHT,
If soften'd by a PERQUISITE.
Our HERO thinking, once let in,
His work of glory might begin,
Straight let some golden logic drop,
That CERBERUS might have a sop;
But ah! in vain, at ev'ry door
CORRUPTION met him as before;
Tho' PROTEUS like, in various guise,
To cheat his unsuspecting eyes;
For none of all the courtly tribe
Would move, he found, without a bribe.
Wearied at length, and what is worse,
Incumber'd with an empty purse,
He cried, "Was VIRTUE never here?"
One answer'd, "Is he, friend, a PEER,
Or COMMONER, of large estate?
We know him not, unless he's great."
DISCRETION strove in vain t' asswage
Our Hero, fill'd with fire-ey'd rage;
Who fiercely swift destruction vow'd
To VICE, and all her train, aloud.
His furious speech a
lordly
wag
Immediately pronounc'd
Scan. Mag.
And threaten'd, with a special warrant,
The person of our poor KNIGHT ERRANT;
Who, rather dreading such a case,
Resolv'd to fly the ticklish place.
From COURT he sought a lady's ROUTE,
And conquest hop'd beyond a doubt;
He stood, and saw with painful eye
The spotted witches circling fly;
And said, More devastation springs
From four ill painted pasteboard kings,
Than e'er was spread o'er publick good,
By any Tyrant, since the flood.
At length a COUNTESS—nothing new—
Secur'd a PAM to save her Loo;
Which gave occasion to the KNIGHT
To speak at large against the bite;
When one and all the gamesters said,
He merited a broken head:
But said, Through grace, and he might thank it,
They'd only toss him in a blanket.
Not satisfied, he sought the city,
And said on Change, 'twas wond'rous pity
That mankind, for each other made,
Should try to over-reach in trade;
That merchandize could only be
A source of sordid usury;
That moral feelings were discarded,
And darling Gain alone regarded;
That as the sage
Socrates.
, by Virtue aw'd,
Call'd MARKETS once the seat of FRAUD;
So still, he added, to their shame,
They merited the hateful name.
A Broker, of the HEBREW nation,
A knave by nature, and vocation,
Who knew his own defective heart,
Assum'd the irritative part;
Declar'd that man who could defame
And taint the Trader's spotless name,
That others might be kept in awe,
Deserv'd the sharpest lash of law.
Thus having sounded an alarm,
Each conscious Knave began to warm;
A hum of mischievous intent,
Ran thro' the sons of Cent. per Cent.
Till once again, our KNIGHT defeated,
Before an host of foes retreated,
And wiser grown than heretofore,
Resolv'd to combat VICE no more.
The moral hence we hope is plain,
That mankind are so blind, or vain,
So whirl'd by whim, by passions tost,
All but the name of Virtue's lost.
That good example's more prevailing
Than all enthusiastic railing;
And that the man's an ERRANT KNIGHT,
Who strives with
gen'ral
VICE to fight.
FABLE VIII. THE BEAU AND BUTTERFLY.
THUS speaks an Adage, somewhat old,
"TRUTH
is not to be always told.
"
What eye but struck with outward show,
Admires the pretty thing, a BEAU?
Which both by Art and Nature made is,
The sport of sense, the toy of ladies.
A mortal of this tiney mold,
In cloaths of silk, adorn'd with gold,
And dress'd in ev'ry point of sight
To give the world of taste delight,
Prepar'd to enter his Sedan,
A Birth-day picture of a Man,
Cried out in vain soliloquy,
Was ever creature form'd like me?
By Art or Nature's nicest care,
Made more compleat, and
Debonnair?
I see myself, with perfect joy,
Of human kind the
Je ne sçai quoy;
In ev'ry thing I rival FRANCE,
In fashion, wit, and sprightly dance;
So charming are my shape and parts,
I'm form'd for captivating hearts;
The proudest toast, when in the vein,
I take at once by
Coup de main;
Mort de ma vie,
'tis magic all,
I look, and vanquish'd Women fall.
One of the race of BUTTERFLIES,
An insect far more nice than wise,
Who from his sunny couch of glass,
Had listen'd to the two legg'd Ass,
With intermeddling zeal replied,
Unequal'd folly—matchless pride!
Shalt thou, a patch-work creature, claim
More lovely shape, or greater name,
Than one of us? Assert thy right,
Stand naked in my critic sight.
To parent Earth at once resign
The produce of her golden mine;
Give to the worm her silken store,
The di'mond to GOLCONDA'S shore;
Nor let the many teeth you want,
Be plunder'd from the Elephant;
Let native locks adorn thy head,
Nor glow thy cheeks with borrow'd red;
Give to the OSTRICH back his plume,
Nor rob the CAT of her perfume;
Here to the BEAVER yield at once
His fur which crowns thy empty sconce;
In short, appear thro' ev'ry part,
No more, nor less, than what thou art;
Then little better than an APE,
Will show thy metamorphos'd shape;
While BUTTERFLIES to death retain
The beauties they from Nature gain.
You'll say, perhaps, our sojourn here
Is less by half, than half a year;
That churlish Winter surely brings
Destruction to our painted wings.
I grant the truth—now answer me—
Can Beaus outlive adversity?
Will Milliners, and Taylors join,
To make a foppish
Beggar
fine?
'Tis certain, No—of glitter made—
You surely vanish in the shade;
Compar'd, then, who will dare deny
A BEAU is less than BUTTERFLY?
FABLE IX. SOCRATES AND THE BEAU.
A
Grecian
Smart, or Buck, or Beau,
(GREECE had her Coxcombs too, we know)
Would needs his puny wit engage
With SOCRATES, the moral SAGE.
This dupe to fashion's flimzy rules,
Like some we know—existing fools—
RELIGION deem'd, and even Sense,
Against POLITENESS an offence—
Despis'd, as vain, all learned knowledge
Which youth derives from school or college—
And said, Time only flew to waste
Unless with pleasure wing'd, and taste.
Full of himself, with eager pace,
He sought the Sage's dwelling place;
Which found, like all the forward kind,
He left his complaisance behind;
Push'd boldly in, when lo, his fight
Was struck with unforeseen delight,
To catch the philosophic Ass
Contemplating a looking glass.
Friend SOCRATES, the witling cries,
Good morning—shall I trust these eyes—
Can gravity, like yours, enjoy
So insignificant a toy?
I thought a mirror only fit
Where beauty holds the place of wit;
A play-thing for the young and gay,
To fool their vacant hours away.
Yet hold—perhaps unusual graces
The eye of Contemplation traces;
I'll take myself a nicer view,
And give so great a man his due.
He cock'd
his
glass—for ev'ry Beau
Us'd such two thousand years ago;
Then cried—Ye Gods, how fine a creature!
What harmony of limb and feature!
What eagle eyes! how grave a beard!
Was ought more perfect ever rear'd?
Tho' in the CLOUDS
A Comedy of Aristophanes.
you've made me gay,
'Tis now but simple truth to say,
For elegance of shape, and cloaths,
You're foremost of Athenian Beaus.
Untouch'd with idle hasty passion,
By this ironic fool of fashion,
(The man can bear all rubs in life,
Who bore like him a scolding wife)
The MORALIST look'd up, and smil'd;
Then said, I must instruct you, child—
You stare—nay think me not absurd—
You're but a CHILD, upon my word.
Know, Sir, that years exceeding twenty,
Nor partial fortune shedding plenty,
That titles, person, dress, nor gait,
Can dignify with man's estate;
Beyond all honours, show, or pelf,
Is both
to know,
and
rule thyself.
This
Mirrour
can, if well applied,
Assisting Reason, checking Pride,
Much more instructive lessons teach
Than Folly, and her train can reach—
Deign, sprightly Sir, to take a view;
'Twas chiefly made for such as you—
Soon as it struck Sir FOPLING'S eyes,
Distended features show'd surprize;
And well, to own a truth, they might
At such a mortifying sight;
For lo, the glass, beyond a doubt,
Had turn'd the reptile inside out;
He saw, with pain, his brainless scull
Of gewgaws and of fashions full;
And found that Vice, in ev'ry part
Had putrified his wretched heart.
Says SOCRATES, Good friend, what now?
Why sits amazement on your brow?
Had you but striv'n to deck your mind,
Nor all your care to dress confin'd,
A fairer prospect then had been
In such a kind reflector seen;
Time yet is yours—employ it better—
Nor be to common sense a debtor.
Let kind reflection justly tell
The happy art of living well;
An art, if I can ought discern,
Fine Gentlemen want much to learn.
The Beau, abash'd, retir'd in haste,
Both disappointed and disgrac'd.
FABLE X. THE SWALLOW AND PIKE.
'TIS common amongst human kind,
All errors, but our own, to find;
Nay, oft we lay severest blame,
When guilty of the very same;
What magic pow'r can dim our sight,
Or make us look thro' partial light?
SELF-APPROBATION, thee I call,
The dear delusive source of all.
The HYPOCRITE, with sainted face,
Will still hypocrisy disgrace;
Lifts up in pray'r his hands and eyes,
Unblushing to th' insulted skies;
While earth-incumber'd thought remains
Fast bound below, in worldly chains;
Yet calls devotion impious art,
Which flows not pure, and from the heart.
The GAMESTER cries, that shame should fix
Her brand upon dishonest tricks;
To slip a card, or cog a die,
He calls the blackest infamy;
Yet stake with him, he's nothing loth,
When-e'er he can, to practise both.
The ENVIOUS man affects surprize,
To hear of grudging hearts, or eyes;
Tho' all he sees another gain,
Infects his worthless mind with pain.
NARCISSA'S husband six weeks dead,
E'en widow like she chose to wed;
AMELIA heard, cried Fie for shame!
And, in a fortnight, did the same.
LIBERIA, whose abandon'd life,
With modesty holds constant strife,
Exclaims, What shame do those deserve
Who cannot keep a just reserve?
Thus CENSURE, like a shuttle-cock,
Is bandied round the human flock;
And always takes its boldest wing,
From those who best deserve its sting.
The setting SUN, with Eastward beams,
Now lightly sparkled o'er the streams;
When eager in pursuit of food,
An hungry
Swallow
skim'd the flood;
Myriads of Flies must death endure,
To gorge the feather'd Epicure;
Who, rather sated with his prey,
Turn'd serious work, to wanton play,
And in his gambols needs must try,
How near the water he could fly.
So near the rash advent'rer went,
To that precarious element,
That from his rush-encircled bed,
A greedy PIKE rais'd up his head;
And darting as the SWALLOW pass'd,
Catch'd his unthinking victim fast;
A pinion broke, then let him float
Within the compass of his throat;
While thousands and ten thousand flies,
Buzz'd loud thanksgiving to the skies;
That such an hungry monster's doom
Should be to find a living tomb.
The wounded bird made his defence,
By thus pretending innocence—
What have I done, good lordly PIKE,
To merit thus your dread dislike?
It was beneath your rank to follow,
A poor and inoffensive SWALLOW;
So mild and tender in his nature,
As ne'er to hurt a mortal creature.
Audacious wretch, the PIKE replied,
Of guilt convicted, soon as tried;
How dares thy coward cunning try
To shelter life, with sophistry?
Why o'er this river didst thou skim,
Was it for profit, slave! or whim?
Didst thou not dare, before these eyes,
To gorge innumerable Flies?
Insects, whose right to life, tho' small,
Equals the greatest of us all;
Whose tender fibres crush'd retain
As quick and deep a sense of pain;
Besides
my
darling Fish must be,
Depriv'd of these, unfit for me;
Like me, thou hast no other right,
But greater strength, and appetite;
If I'm a murd'rer in thy view,
The Flies may call thee murd'rer too;
Yet still we only follow Man,
To prey on what, and whom we can.
Thus pleading Nature's gen'ral law,
He gave the morsel to his maw.
FABLE XI. THE BIRTH DAY.
THE morn was come, the brilliant morn,
On which Fame said, my LORD was born;
The courtly SUN—who more polite,
Contributed unusual light—
The vegetable world was seen
Exhibiting more vivid green;
The feather'd songsters tun'd their throats,
To louder and more jocund notes;
All Nature smil'd, and look'd more gay,
To honour the auspicious day;
Nor could she, reason must confess,
Do for a TITLED mortal, less—
Whom twenty-one indulgent years
Had ripen'd for the HOUSE of PEERS.
At such an aera, custom pays
A world of compliments, and praise;
Mere phantoms of external show,
Which from the lip of int'rest flow;
For let the self-same wond'rous man,
So worshipp'd by a servile clan,
Be stripp'd of titles and estate,
He's then no longer good, nor great.
The BIRTH DAY levee now were come,
And marshall'd in the drawing room;
A medly of most curious creatures,
As diff'rent in designs as features.
Here fawning
Priests,
with looks demure,
In hopes to get a better
cure,
Appear'd to grace the friendly croud;
And very low—for livings bow'd—
On t' other side, the sons of law,
Their rev'rence make with distant awe;
No counsel, sure, wou'd ever grudge
A scrape or two—to be a
Judge.
Ev'n thy disciples, MARS, beset
The youthful rising coronet.
But where is he the race can shun
When thou, Preferment, bid'st him run?
Thy magic spur can quicken all,
To circle round this earthly ball;
To combat dangers, cares, and strife,
Nay, some to hazard fame with life.
Amongst the rest, one suitor came,
A stranger scarcely known by name,
Who acting on a diff'rent plan,
Declar'd himself, the HONEST MAN.
This rustic blade approach'd the peer—
I've reach'd, he said, my ninetieth year;
Three score of which, young Lord, have I
Been tenant to your family—
Then, let me first with kindness prove
Your patronage, and noble love;
Tho' plain my coat, my heart, I trust,
Hath ever been in action just;
I boldly ask, what these conceal,
And hope to win, what they would steal,
Your favour—not for selfish end—
But more to show myself your friend.
I ask not wealth, for common sense
Hath made me rich in competence;
I ask not titles, they must shame
My humble parts, and humble name;
But ask a boon which you may grant,
Nor for another suit or want;
Age bows my body to the grave,
Remaining time I wish to save,
Thus hasting off this stage of strife,
Will you bestow some years of life?
The youthful Peer, whose heart was good,
And full as noble, as his blood;
In sentiments, as rank sublime;
Perhaps the CARLISLE of his time—
Replied, I understand thee not—
What pow'r have I to change thy lot
Of life or death?—yet what is mine
I promise freely shall be thine;
I've heard thy worth, and dare afford
To bind it with my solemn word.
Oh noble youth, return'd the fire,
May heav'n thy virtuous mind inspire;
Each worthy deed of thine will be
A year of added life to me—
Thus I may ask, without a crime,
To lengthen out with joy my time.
His Lordship hear'd with smiling face,
Then rush'd into a kind embrace;
And cried, Good father, thy request
Shall live for ever in this breast;
And far as mortal frailty reaches,
I'll practise what thy wisdom teaches;
Nor will I specious show regard,
But worth in honest men reward;
And keep my favours there confin'd,
Where virtues ornament the mind.
He said—the levee shrunk away—
Like night before the rising day.
FABLE XII. THE LION AND FOX.
A LION, full of youthful blood,
Who rul'd at large a spacious wood;
Whom flatterers had often told,
No spear could pierce, no toil could hold;
Like some amongst the human kind,
Was plagu'd with an
ambitious
mind;
By birth possess'd with ample store,
He sigh'd, and vainly wish'd for more;
And restless deem'd his royal lot,
Pent up within too small a spot.
Possess'd of this, in waking dreams,
He laid ten thousand frantic schemes;
Projected conquests far and wide,
Extended rule on ev'ry side;
Saw savage nations fall before him,
And many thousands more adore him;
Nay, saw in his unbounded plan,
His sceptre sway the tyrant man.
At length, vouchsafing to impart
The mighty purpose of his heart
A FOX, who many years had been
Chief actor in each busy scene;
And therefore well knew how to fix
The real worth of politics;
Who warm'd with patriotic zeal,
Preferr'd, to gain, the common weal;
Presum'd, without disguise, to ask,
That he might share his Prince's task;
Or haply cool, by timely truth,
The
ardour
of impetuous youth.
Why thus, my friend, the LION cries,
Beyond myself I mean to rise;
And more t'exalt my present state,
Henceforth to be surnam'd—the GREAT.
Thou know'st the forest which lies south,
Beyond the Golden Valley's mouth;
With awful caves, and choice of sport,
Where TYGER keeps his mimic court;
I'll seize by force the vast domain,
To add new strength, and grace my reign;
From thence, with most resistless force,
March to the sable river's course;
Hurl haughty LEOPARD from his throne,
And make that plenteous realm my own:
Then our victorious banners wave,
'Till ELEPHANT becomes my slave:
Inferior princes at my call,
Must homage pay, and prostrate fall.
Thus, when a world salutes me King,
And boundless nations tribute bring;
I'll turn towards my native soil,
And there enjoy my glorious toil.
The FOX replied, Your royal name,
My Liege, and your immortal fame;
Join'd to your happy kingdom's good,
I tender dearly as my blood;
This forces truth upon my tongue,
And pardon claims, should I be wrong.
Look round, and see, with calm content,
The realm you govern by descent;
With Heav'n's best gifts supremely bless'd,
With plenty crown'd, and joy and rest,
See happiness thro' ev'ry part
Diffus'd to glad your princely heart;
Each beast with pleasure howls your praise,
And views you with admiring gaze;
What then should more a
King
rejoice,
Than
Loyalty
's approving voice?
I know, great sir, that young in life,
Unpractis'd too, in martial strife;
Ambition
cries, Your mighty paw
Should keep the prostrate world in awe;
But let the restless source of care,
Be banish'd from your bosom far;
That fever of an heated mind,
To yours, and gen'ral safety blind.
Suppose, for once, the fairest view
Which FAME and FORTUNE could pursue;
Suppose success with rapid force
Should urge you o'er a downhill course;
That ev'ry wind, and ev'ry stream,
Should waft you tow'rds your golden dream;
Nay, grant beyong the utmost scope
Of warmest wish, and boldest hope;
Ten thousand cares, unknown before,
Surrounding, will perplex you more;
Our history, like that of man,
Will contradict your dang'rous plan;
For jealous eyes must still pursue,
Your conquests, with malicious view;
Compulsion, sage experience shows,
An origin of restless foes;
And limbs beyond the body grown,
May overweigh, perhaps, your
throne.
Next let Reflection's eye advance,
And view with care precarious chance;
The fate of war in ballance hung,
May speak with most persuasive tongue;
Let Fancy, like a faithful scout,
Bring to your sight a total rout;
Behold your scatter'd warriors fly,
Or vanquish'd in the battle die;
With fell revenge the conqu'rors burn,
To waste your kingdom in return;
On ev'ry side your subjects fall;
What pow'r can banish'd life recall?
See
Desolation
's dreary face
Glare horrible in ev'ry place;
By no restrictive rulers aw'd,
See
Famine, Murder,
stalk abroad,
See all, which seen makes Nature shrink,
And learn, my prince, betimes to think.
You judge, perhaps, an active mind,
In peaceful times too much confin'd;
And think with Glory's dreams possess'd,
That all but war is slothful rest;
Yet
monarchs
in the calmest hour,
May show the brightest beams of pow'r.
To frame new wholesome laws, or give
Due influence to those which live;
To banish vice, and always be
The bounteous friend of industry;
To hold the worthy in regard,
And cherish merit with reward;
Is sure a safer, milder way
To FAME which never can decay;
Than that which martial glory leads,
While wounded Nature groaning bleeds.
This truth, my Royal Lord, receive,
And as you know my love, believe—
War combats Reason, Virtue, Sense,
Unless declar'd for
self-defence;
In such a case the heart must warm,
While
Nature
bids the weakest arm;
Repelling wrong, protecting
right,
Your subjects will with pleasure fight;
And bravely dare
Death
's darkest frown,
To save their
freedom,
and your
crown.
Then, Sir, to grace your royal blood,
Shine truly GREAT, in being GOOD.
FABLE XIII. THE PHILOSOPHER AND RATTLE.
A Solemn port, a brow austere,
Abstracted pride, and mind severe;
Contempt by looks, and language shown,
For all opinions but its own;
Cloaths made to contradict the fashion
Of any age, and ev'ry nation;
With conversation most sublime,
Which calls amusement, waste of time;
Have often seem'd, yet ne'er could be,
Nature's best guide,
Philosophy.
A wight of this sequester'd stamp,
Who long had o'er the midnight lamp,
With less of profit than of pains,
Begloom'd his mind and rack'd his brains;
Defrauding Nature of her due,
In constant search of something new;
'Till overloaded with the weight
Of knowledge, Reason left her seat:
For as the body, so the head
May possibly be overfed;
And haply wanting proper vent,
May turn to
poison, nourishment:
A wight like this, relates our tale,
Who weigh'd each thought in Logic's scale;
Once met, perchance, a sprightly child,
With youth and pleasure almost wild;
Who shaking his new
rattle
ran,
And thus address'd this learned man;
As children free from selfish care,
Like those enjoyments best they share.
See here, good Sir, the pretty thing,
Mama has bought her
little king;
Come, take it in your hand, and play
As I do—look you—here's the way.
So freely spoke the prattling boy,
And thought to give our Stoic joy!
Who took his bauble with a frown,
Then—From the cottage to the crown
'Tis folly all alike, he cries;
How few endeavour to be wise?
Nor is it strange: since youth are taught
An idle vacancy of thought;
By parents giving approbation
To implements of dissipation
Like this; on ev'ry slight pretence;
Which, flatt'ring
Fancy,
murder
Sense.
He said; and with contempt profound,
His hand discharg'd it to the ground.
The boy in simple wonder gaz'd,
His little heart shrunk back amaz'd;
A doubtful cloud o'er-hung each eye,
He knew not which, to laugh, or cry;
But soon the RATTLE found a tongue,
To answer such indignant wrong,
For be it known, that injur'd wood
Can scold, as well as flesh and blood.
Why, how now, whence such surly looks,
Thou overbearing man of books?
I dare assert, and speak with reason,
That all things have their proper season;
And toys, like me, are well design'd
To entertain a childish mind:
My name perhaps begets disdain,
In one like you of knowledge vain;
But pause a while—like PROTEUS—I
The force of various shapes can try;
And play my parts on Nature's stage,
To please all ranks, and ev'ry age.
Sometimes like Glory's brightest gem,
To
kings
I come a diadem;
Before the
Curate
's eyes I'm drawn
In form of most attractive lawn;
The
Lawyer,
with ambition big,
Admires me in a
Judge
's wig;
The
Soldier
I can vanquish soon,
In pleasing shape of a battoon;
The
Merchant,
having bought and sold,
Retiring finds me in his gold;
To
Turtle
turn'd—I still secure
Each gormandizing
Epicure;
I hit the Bacchanalian's vein,
In sparkling flasks of brisk champaign;
The
Beau
I catch, as well as brute,
When chang'd into a birth-day suit;
A
A
famous race-horse.
GIMCRACK to the racing crew,
I skim the plain, and they pursue;
The ALLEY knaves I catch in flocks,
Transform'd to precious rising stocks:
Convey'd in fair CORINNA'S smiles,
My shade her lover's care beguiles.
The ladies too, in ev'ry state,
By diff'rent forms I captivate;
Sometimes I catch the fair one's view,
With plunder of enchanting
loo;
Now chang'd to di'mond solitaire,
VANINA gives me all her care;
A coronet and equipage,
In me another's heart engage;
A fourth admits me through her eyes,
In form of oaths, and vows, and sighs;
Both young and old, both high and low,
Alike to me attachment show.
Ev'n you, with all your learning, sense,
Against my pow'r have no defence;
For howsoe'er in words you battle,
Your
summum bonum's
but a RATTLE.
FABLE XIV. THE COCK AND POINTER.
COURAGE, which serves a worthy end,
The virtuous and the wise commend;
Who likewise judge by certain rule,
That headlong rashness marks a fool;
Making such worth as might adorn
The source of perils, pain, and scorn.
A COCK, who oft in bloody fray,
Had borne the VICTOR'S prize away;
Tho' not without indented scars,
Heroic signals of his wars;
By frequent conquests grew so vain,
That glory turn'd his martial brain;
And made the images of fight,
Haunt all his wishes, day and night;
A feather'd QUIXOTE, fit for battle,
With men, with windmills, or with cattle;
For if he might his prowess show,
He valued not what kind of foe.
One day an honest POINTER went,
With humble competence content,
To scrape the dunghill for a bone,
Which, having hid, he thought his own;
The COCK observ'd with jealous eye,
Crow'd, clapp'd his wings, and drawing nigh,
Declar'd, by all the pow'rs of fate,
No thief should plunder his estate.
The DOG, by converse gentle made,
Gave smooth reply, tho' not afraid;
And said, With diff'rent tastes we're born,
I feed on
flesh,
you relish
corn;
What variance then should make us jar,
I hate, I own, the thoughts of war;
And would in social concord rest,
With ev'ry kind of bird and beast;
Save when my master's net, or gun
Requires, in search of game, to run.
The COCK replied, A coward still
Can find evasions if he will;
Know that my just resentment soon
Shall teach thee distance, vile poltroon;
No less a
Spaniard
in thy heart,
Than in thy name, and outward part;
Thus learn—so saying slapp'd a stroke—
You'll find it, reptile, more than joke.
The DOG, unhurt, kept scratching on,
And only bade the COCK begone;
Who, sure of conquest, struck some blows,
Which wounded PONTO'S tender nose;
Whose patience lost, a single bite
Concluded the unequal fight:
Sir CHANTICLEER scream'd out, and dy'd,
A Martyr to his foolish pride.
FABLE XV. THE CYNIC AND FASHION.
SOME think on ev'ry slight pretence,
That snarling shows a fund of sense;
And therefore shrewdly never fail,
Reason, or none, to mouth, and rail;
As if the scope of moral thought,
Lay all compriz'd in finding fault.
It happen'd so that one of these,
A thorough bred DIOGENES;
That sprightly damsel FASHION met,
And lectur'd thus the gay Coquette.
'Tis true, I know, fantastic madam,
Thou foe to all the race of ADAM;
Thou thing of nothing, gaudy moppet,
No better than a dress'd up puppet;
I know thy pow'r, thy matchless pride,
That reason has the weaker side,
Yet dare I speak my thoughts aloud,
Tho' Fancy sways the senseless crowd;
And show that all thy flimzy rules,
Are cobweb bands to fetter
fools.
How dar'st thou, trifler as thou art,
Presume to rule the human heart?
To captivate the thoughtless eyes,
And warp the nobler faculties?
Degrading sense, and studious care,
With empty taste, and idle air.
Thy proselytes, a coxcomb train,
Of outward show alone are vain;
Who still to real merit blind,
Enslav'd by dress, neglect the mind.
Say what avails thy splendid show,
Tho' colours rival IRIS' bow;
Tho' jewels from the INDIAN mine,
Arrang'd in nicest order shine;
Tho' ev'ry quarter of the globe,
Should join thy person to enrobe;
Thy proper title still must be,
The Weathercock of
Vanity.
FASHION, with sly and gentle look,
Receiv'd this
cynical
rebuke;
Then smiling,
shrewdly thus
replied,
There are more sorts, than one, of
Pride;
A weed so rank—in every college,
It chokes fair science, learning, knowledge.
Look inward, surly friend, and see,
If such a monster dwells in thee;
Let objects in due form arise,
And sense obey impartial eyes;
While prejudice invades the mind,
'Tis ever obstinate, or blind.
Think you, grave Sir, that wisdom shows
With better grace in shapeless cloaths?
That Virtue speaks with stronger note,
In longer, or in shorter coat?
That learning dare not show its face,
Beneath a little harmless lace?
Must piety upon her back,
Still wear a formal robe of black?
Can none expire in honour's bed,
But martial spirits bound in red?
'Tis all a farce, and none but fools
Would judge by such contracted rules.
You've boldly charged me home with treason,
Against the sacred power of reason;
But wherefore so? all things on earth
From some good purpose draw their birth;
And rightly manag'd serve to bless;
Yet when perverted by excess,
Slaves of irrational abuse,
They lose their beauty, worth, and use.
Thus I, by prudence first was made,
A friend to industry and trade;
My purposes will proof endure,
I please the
rich,
to feed the
poor;
I rule the great with my commands,
And set to work unnumber'd hands;
From my inconstant temper springs
To subjects wealth, and pow'r to kings;
Divided between land and sea,
Millions derive support from me.
Indeed when mimic folly breaks
Discretion's bounds, and wildly takes
My shape; I always feel disgrace
With painful blushes tinge my face.
To see, forgetting diff'rent spheres,
Mechanics boldly apeing peers;
To see fine ladies Abigails,
Drag silken trains, like Peacocks tails;
To see the wife of homely cit,
Attempt the stile of courtly wit;
To see an ALDERMAN advance,
In capers newly brought from FRANCE;
To see a
flaunting semstress
come
To figure at a lady's drum;
To see a draggled prentice sent
With cards of ill-spelt compliment;
To see, the sordid slave of vice,
A LONDON merchant trade with DICE;
To see all these, and many more,
Which life affords in ample store;
May raise your censure, or compassion,
But call them MADNESS, friend, not FASHION.
FABLE XVI. THE ROYAL DOVE.
EXAMPLE streaming from the great,
Thro' each department of a state,
Should as untainted snow be fair,
And spread around with virtuous care;
For be it either good or bad,
Most ranks are fashionably mad.
An EAGLE who had seen with pain,
Licentiousness extend its reign;
Whose more than usual patriot eye,
Saw most in birds of
quality;
Saw marriage, like compulsive tether,
His lords and ladies link together;
With scarce a spark of love to light
The scanty space of wedding night;
Who saw gallants and mistresses,
The sev'ral parties better please;
Who saw destructive cards and dice,
In triumph lead domestic vice;
Who saw a love of foreign fashions
With endless idle dissipations,
Infect bats, owls, and carrion crows,
As well as gaudy well-plum'd beaus,
Who saw discretion yield to pride,
But chiefly on the female side;
Kindly resolv'd, by wisdom led,
A partner for his royal bed;
That subjects looking to the throne,
From Virtues there might form their own
The proselyte of prudent love,
He fix'd his choice upon a DOVE;
Whom Nature had with partial care
Created good as well as fair.
With open hand Benevolence,
The child of Virtue and of Sense
Dispers'd her various bounties round,
With multitudes of blessings crown'd;
A constant and engaging mate,
She smooth'd her consort's cares of state;
Whose captive heart each coming day,
Own'd more and more her gentle sway;
Which never aim'd at any pow'r,
But that of sweet'ning ev'ry hour.
Mothers from her might fully prove
The raptures of maternal love;
And sure no offspring ever could
Bring more of joy, or public good.
Mild condescension smooth'd her brow,
And taught ill judging pride to bow;
Whene'er she coo'd, the subjects hung
With rapture on her tuneful tongue;
And those were ever most admir'd,
Who catch'd that goodness she inspir'd.
Each couple, like the ROYAL PAIR,
Still sympathiz'd in joy and care;
Till HYMEN, with peculiar grace,
Was seen to smile in ev'ry place;
Ev'n fickle, wanton Sparrows now
Would fashionably keep their vow.
Perfect in ev'ry scene of life,
Review'd as mother, friend, or wife;
The truly ROYAL DOVE was seen,
To act, to coo, to look the QUEEN;
With charming form, and gentle mind,
Almost the CHARLOTTE of her kind.
FABLE XVII. THE ROMAN AND BARBARIAN.
WHEN ROME was in her height of glory,
So find we in historic story;
Struck with her universal fame,
A travelling BARBARIAN came,
Who wish'd in all her parts to see
That boasted seat of liberty.
A CITIZEN engag'd to show
The stranger all he wish'd to know;
O'er all her sev'n proud hills they stray'd,
And various observations made;
The ROMAN pointing to his guest,
Those prospects which he fancied best.
There view our CAPITOL, he cries,
Stupendous subject of surprize!
Where sits our SENATE framing law,
To keep the conquer'd world in awe.
Examine with punctilious care,
This spacious AMPHITHEATRE;
Where thronging nations may find room—
Such is its large, capacious womb.
Behold, with reverence profound!
Our vast PANTHEON'S sacred round!
Where, wisely suited to the place,
Our imag'd Gods give hallow'd grace!
Behold this Column tow'ring high,
Which seems to emulate the sky;
Those BATHS superb!—see—curious sight!
Are fram'd for profit and delight.
View hence the sun his lustre beam,
To gild majestic TYBER'S stream;
By which our plenteous city gains
The produce of unnumber'd plains.
Look round, in short, on ev'ry part,
Then freely speak, and from your heart,
If Art and Nature so combin'd,
With elegance and grandeur join'd,
E'er struck your ravish'd eyes before
Your footsteps trod the ROMAN shore.
Here the BARBARIAN (for that name
Those proud monopolists of Fame,
The ROMANS, gave with partial sneer,
To all beyond their native sphere;)
Admitted, on a curious view,
The sev'ral observations true;
Yet seem'd to say that solid sense
Ne'er doated on magnificence.
Did all, says he, this grandeur come
By lawful means, to lordly ROME?
For why should many nations groan,
To deck a city not their own?
Were she by emulative trade,
In wealth, and pow'r, superior made;
Did she not gain her boasted charms,
By rapine, and the force of arms;
Could all her pompous marks of state,
Avert th' unerring shafts of fate;
(For, once she must her ruin mourn,
Like other empires in her turn;)
Could pow'r and grandeur time defy,
Nor ROMANS like BARBARIANS die;
Could they procure a better lot,
In future worlds, when here forgot;
Could they, on life's precarious stage,
But add one scene to failing age;
Could they from sickness take its pains,
Or harmonize disorder'd brains;
Could they with kind instructive art,
Inform the head, and mend the heart;
Could they the hours mispent recal,
And shed Divine Content on all;
The world might then with justice come,
And worship your unrival'd ROME.
But as it is—(excuse a truth,
Not the less certain, tho' uncouth;
Since sure it cannot be denied)
They only serve to pamper pride.
FABLE XVIII. THE POLITIC LION.
IN life no error more appears
Than ill adapted characters.
Who would not either laugh, or cry,
The contrast of philosophy,
To see a valiant soldier loll
And slumber in a Prebend's stall,
Devoid of Piety and Knowledge,
Who shames EELIGION, and the COLLEGE;
(His morals nought but outward show,)
And shines a most irrev'rend beau.
What other feelings strike the heart,
To see the grave PHYSICIAN'S part
Disgrac'd by those, (as oft is seen,)
Who good mechanics might have been;
To see a genius, form'd for trade,
A blund'ring
Pettyfogger
made;
To see a farming country Squire,
Sent up a silent Knight o' th' shire—
To see a Poet, or Musician,
Commencing shallow Politician;
In short, to see, as sense must own,
So many men turn'd upside down;
And Reason's dictates cast aside,
By Folly, Avarice, or Pride.
When each man in a proper place,
Might act his part with decent grace.
A LION, who with sov'reign sway
The forest rul'd—one council day,
Among the subject beasts declar'd,
That he and they must stand prepar'd
A most tremendous war to wage,
Demanding wisdom, strength, and rage.
Let all, he cries, take proper spheres,
And all who march, be volunteers—
In ev'ry enterprize we find
There's nothing like a willing mind.
You, BRUIN, whom we henceforth call
Our Muster-master General,
Collect our
Warriors
with such speed,
As suits a time of pressing need;
For this the wisest means pursue:
Ourself
will take the grand
review.
His royal Mandate spread about,
All royal beasts began their route;
The HARE and ASS, with others came,
Thro'
Duty,
more than love of
Fame;
Whom when the cynic Bear beheld,
With savage laugh he shook the field;
Then said, with an ironic sneer,
Oh, welcome, valiant creatures, here—
What Monarchs shrink at war's alarms,
When such as you cry out—To arms!
Heroes!
for boundless conquest made—
Of nothing, but disgrace, afraid.
The bashful couple in dismay,
Held down their heads and slunk away—
Too often modest worth and sense
Give place to harden'd impudence.
Just then the LION, passing by,
Beheld them with indulgent eye;
And having kindly ask'd their cases,
Declar'd they should be fix'd in places,—
Which, certainly, tho' not so great
As many others in the state,
Had still their worth, and were of use,
Beyond the reach of proud abuse.
Then turning to the BEAR, he cry'd,
How durst you, Sir, indulge your pride?
If you had been as wise, as strong,
Your sense would then have check'd your tongue—
Good subjects must be dear to me,
Whether of high, or low degree.
Indeed should I so grossly err,
Unworthy creatures to prefer;
Should I so far from prudence wander,
To make an ASS or HARE commander;
My subjects might with cause complain,
And stigmatize my simple reign.
But while I, with impartial spirit,
Pay due regard to honest merit;
While just gradation forward leads,
And beasts are valu'd for their deeds;
They'll well perform their sev'ral parts,
And I reign Monarch of their hearts.
Those creatures you so much disdain,
When thus dispos'd shall credit gain;
The
Stentor
-ass shall loudly rattle,
And bray, with martial sound—To battle!
And on occasion help to bear
Provisions—while this nimble Hare
Shall serve, for which you'll all confess
She's well design'd, to go express—
To scout, and watch, with curious eye,
The motions of our
enemy.
Thus, or my judgment is outwitted,
Their bus'ness, and their pow'rs are fitted.
In movements of a grand machine,
Small wheels, as well as great, are seen—
So may the least in any nation,
Be put into an useful station;
And PUBLIC good will flourish most,
Where each supplies his proper post.
FABLE XIX. THE CHARIOTEER.
A CHARIOTEER; not one of those
Who gallop'd in OLYMPIC shows;
But one, who on NEWMARKET'S sod,
Was worship'd, as a Demi-God;
Who, out of any thing, could hatch
The praise, or profit of a MATCH;
Inspir'd with most heroic glee,
High mounted on a VIS A VIS,
Which to a second he could drive,
Or turn, with any man alive;
Was posting on a glowing pace—
For Time and he were match'd a race.
His brother CHARIOTEER, the Sun,
His daily course had almost run,
Impatient for an ev'ning's nap,
In gentle THETIS' watry lap;
When driving up a steepy hill,
Which somewhat check'd impatient will,
(As horses, be they e'er so good,
Are still no more than flesh and blood)
It chanc'd our rattle-pated wit
O'ertook an easy jogging
cit,
Of whom he ask'd, in modish stile,
Damn it, old boy, how many mile
To such a place, and have I pow'r
To reach it—Gee-up—in an hour?
An hour!—old Slow and Sure replies,
Tis near the rate a Pigeon flies;
And tho' your tits are high bred things,
I cannot yet discern their wings;
Their gaping mouths, with foam o'erspread,
And stretch'd out nostrils glowing red,
Their heaving sides, and quiv'ring tails,
Inform me that fatigue prevails—
May I advise, your speed abate,
Or else you'll reach your inn too late;
You'll sooner gain—believe me, friend—
By slower pace, your journey's end.
The mettled blade, of spirit proud,
Disdain'd advice, and laugh'd aloud;
Then swore politely, by the Gods,
Old Shaver must have ta'en the odds—
Exulting thus, whipp'd sharp his cattle—
Who sprung, and made the carriage rattle.
Scarce had he gone three hundred yards,
Ere adverse fate his course retards;
A failing wheel, with crashing noise,
The speed of sanguine hope destroys;
And on the ground, in full career,
Lays low th' astonish'd CHARIOTEER;
Who curs'd the chance, in modish phrase,
And star'd around with stupid gaze.
The sober CIT came jogging on,
And saw dismounted PHAETON;
He saw the prostrate ruin lie,
On which he cast a leering eye;
And thus address'd, with taunting sneer—
I did not think to catch you here;
Tho' as you drove so very fast,
I thought to overtake at last.
Thus you, young Sir, like many more,
In Fortune rich, in Reason poor,
Drive headlong on, nor ever think
How near you are to danger's brink.
If ever you have been at school
You might have learn'd this useful rule,
For young or old, for grave or gay,
Wisely to keep the middle way.
A common Proverb has decreed,
The more we haste the worse we speed;
Yet some with prudence still at strife
Post, neck or nothing, on thro' life.
But soft—farewel—for more delay
Will too much check my stinted way;
The sun declining loses light—
I wish you, luckless friend! good night.
FABLE XX. THE ANGEL AND HERMIT.
A STATESMAN who, as records tell,
Could vie in fame with MACHIAVEL,
Had serv'd his country sev'ral years
With able head, in diff'rent spheres,
And, strange to tell! had play'd his part,
Ev'n
Envy
own'd, with honest heart;
Tho' sometimes stung with partial blame
To cramp, if not to taint his fame;
A certain, tho' a cruel case—
Sad consequence, and tax of place.
At length, impatient of the weight
Which hangs on those who guide a state;
His mind its secret wishes bent
In solitude to seek content.
Soon as Reflection had inspir'd
The pleasing prospect, he retir'd;
Fix'd on a lonely rural spot,
And chang'd his palace, for a cot;
His levees for th' illustrious dead,
Whom in their living works he read;
All equipage was drop'd of course,
Or shrunk into a single horse;
On whom he rode for sake of health,
Which Wisdom owns the richest wealth.
Art had not, with affected grace,
Deform'd this native, lovely place;
Where variegated prospects grew
Successively to charm the view;
Where Nature thro' the landscape smil'd,
A picture beautifully wild;
Where Study found a still retreat
And Virtue seem'd to fix her seat.
One day reclining in a shade,
By overspreading poplars made,
Dispos'd, at large, to ruminate,
Our voluntary HERMIT sate,
And safe he thought from list'ning ear,
Thus prais'd his calm, contented sphere.
Hail a sequester'd state—all hail—
On wood-crown'd hill, or flow'ry vale;
Where mind and body both advance
Their faculties, by temperance;
Where smiling Health around us sails,
Enbosom'd in refreshing gales;
Where FACTION with discordant voice,
No more can interrupt my joys;
Where ENVY with her pois'nous tongue,
No more can taint my fame with wrong;
Where smiling, fair-fac'd, heartless friends,
No more will haunt for selfish ends;
Where Treach'ry, darkest fiend of Hell,
Will never seek my humble cell;
Thrice happy thou sequester'd state;
Who but the frantic would be great?
How mean to be AMBITION'S slave!
Ambition, Virtue's certain grave;
How many years of toilsome life,
Imbitter'd by continual strife,
Tho' with unbounded honours grac'd,
Have I, unthinking, run to waste?
Oh welcome then the calmer reign
Of sage reflection; with her train
Of rational, and mild delights;
With healthful days, and peaceful nights;
Which, solitude, thy charms declare,
Untainted by corroding care.
Let vain idolaters of Fame
Pay homage to a sounding name;
Let them enjoy the smiles of things,
With titles, stars, and silken strings;
Let Soldiers tread the martial field,
And teach their vanquish'd foes to yield;
Let them possess the savage joy,
Like raging tempests, to destroy;
Let Merchants toil from coast to coast,
In search of what they worship most;
And brave all perils of the main,
In search of thee—most pow'rful Gain!
Let Lawyers wrangle—Statesmen scheme,
The fabric of a golden dream;
My part in bustling scenes is o'er,
And Fortune can afflict no more.
Thrice happy, then, sequester'd state,
Who but the frantic would be great?
Here as he ended—from a cloud,
Which serv'd him for a silver shroud,
A light-encircled ANGEL came,
Who hail'd the HERMIT by his name;
Then said; I've heard thy full pretence
To solitude, and abstract sense;
Which shows no more in Reason's eye,
Than unsubstantial sophistry.
If man is form'd of social kind,
The duties of his station bind
To play an active part in life,
Howe'er perplex'd with cares and strife;
Withdrawing to inglorious rest,
Is indolence, or fear, at best;
A profitless, and mean escape,
Unworthy of the human shape.
'Tis own'd that crowns are painful things,
That care may haunt the best of Kings;
Yet making many millions blest,
Must calm the mind, and give it rest;
Can any feel such joy of heart,
As they who act a
Patriot
part?
There lies the worth of being great,
And true pre-eminence of state.
In solitude you seem to say,
That VIRTUE rules with settled sway;
But know that passions in restraint,
Amidst
temptations,
form the
saint.
A
sot,
if unsupplied with wine,
Must drunkenness perforce resign;
A
thief,
by locks and bars shut out,
May boast of honesty, no doubt;
Yet characters like these, I trust,
Are neither sober deem'd, nor just.
Suppose your worth, and what more hard,
Had fail'd to meet a just reward;
That errors of capricious pow'r,
Darken'd your well-devoted hour;
Suppose thro' hate, or want of sense,
Some schemes were cross'd, on false pretence;
Should Reason give resentment scope,
Creating thence
a misanthrope?
Of ev'ry Vice which man has tried,
None's worse than overbearing PRIDE.
Accustom'd to direct her helm,
Why should you leave your native realm?
In danger to be tempest-tost,
Perhaps, her pilot wanting, lost.
With love of rural ease inspir'd,
If like the ROMAN you retir'd;
Prepar'd with patriot Love to stand,
The bulwark of your native land;
So far, with Reason on your side,
Retirement might be justified;
Yet those whose talents most excel,
Should study most the public weal:
No meaner wretch can Nature own,
Than he who lives for SELF alone.
FABLE XXI. THE PROUD ASS.
APERT, and self-sufficient ASS,
Not half so wise as BALAAM'S was:
Who pass'd a round of daily care,
In hawking goods from
fair
to
fair;
Through ervy was so void of sense,
He scorn'd a decent competence;
For such, tho' born an abject slave,
His more than tender master gave.
One day a pamper'd steed pass'd on,
Deck'd out in rich caparison;
A mettled creature, full of fire,
And shap'd like his ARABIAN sire:
At whom our ASS, with mournful sigh,
Strait cast a tear-encircled eye;
Then turning to his owner said,
How dearly do I earn my bread?
Not that I bear too great a load,
Nor often feel your painful goad;
But then, unkindly, you neglect,
To gain me, as you might,
respect.
Pray, what's yon
prancer
more than me,
To merit so much finery?
Where'er he comes, the Hostler shows
Attention to his gaudy cloaths;
The freshest hay supplies his rack,
A curry-comb runs o'er his back;
And best of wheaten straw is spread
Beneath his hoofs to form a bed;
While I, with paltry pannier clad,
(The very thought would make one mad)
Tho' doom'd to labour still more hard,
Can never meet with just regard.
If beauty be his foremost claim,
I justly may produce the same;
Allowing for these certain words,
That, "feathers fine, make finest birds."
Then, master, if you'd have me live,
A saddle-cloth with trimmings give;
Upon this head such bridle place,
As may adorn this comely face;
A net were well, to strike the sight,
No matter, whether green, or white;
Besides, 'twould guard my tender thighs
In summer from perplexing flies;
With ribbands plait my tail and mane;
So let me just importance gain;
Or soon expect, that settled grief
Will weigh me down beyond relief:
For sure no other means can save
Your faithful creature from the grave.
The PEDLAR, foolish as his beast,
Complied with all the fond request;
And deck'd the ASS with simple care,
Then led him to a crouded FAIR,
Where gazing hundreds stop'd his way,
And kept the raree-show at bay.
Our long-ear'd
Beau,
assuming state,
Would mimic too the managed gait;
While many a rude, and painful thump,
Saluted him from head to rump;
Much laughter and a world of jokes
Accompanied the merry strokes;
Some curses too from either side,
Were vented on his foolish pride;
Till terrified, he bray'd aloud
Submission to the shouting crowd;
And promis'd thenceforth to appear
In trappings suited to his sphere:
A maxim, some of human kind,
Would worthy heir observance find;
For pride betrays each forward fool
To all the stings of ridicule,
FABLE XXII. THE LAWYER AND FOX.
IT happen'd once, a son of law,
Who kept three market towns in awe;
Who in his most important look,
All LITTLETON convey'd and COOKE;
(Tho' neither had he ever read,
To furnish out a tricking head;
For Nature gave sufficient art
To play the petti-fogging part;)
One Golden Rule who practis'd long,
"To do no right—nor suffer wrong"—
Resolv'd to war against the FOX,
Who nightly stole his feather'd flocks.
Shall REYNARD, cried old
Nisi Prius
Not plunder only, but defy us;
Shall such a thief my poultry fleece,
My Ducks, my Turkies, Hens and Geese?
Nay more, last night, his maw to cram,
He robb'd me of a fatted Lamb;
I'm now resolv'd to set a trap,
And should I catch the slipp'ry chap,
With oaken towel first I'll bang him,
And then, upon a gibbet hang him.
The FOX, (so matters came to pass)
Who with strict zeal kept MICHAELMAS,
By eating GOOSE—upon its Eve
Went slyly laughing in his sleeve,
To pick up one—oh harden'd sinner—
For his, and spouse's annual dinner.
The morning clock with drowsy tone,
Upon its bell had just struck one;
In dreamless balmy slumbers blest,
Ev'n village curs were lull'd to rest;
No longer flow'd the murm'ring rill,
Which serv'd to work a neighb'ring mill;
Love, wakeful God, no vigil kept,
And HODGE, forgetting MOPSY, slept;
Silence and darkness most profound
Enwrapp'd the fearless village round;
When REYNARD reach'd the LAWYER'S yard,
And ran direct (O Fortune hard!)
Where lay the trap; there found, too late,
The iron grasp of cruel fate;
He struggled vainly to get loose,
And curs'd his foolish Love of GOOSE.
The morn at length, in saffron robe,
Came gayly smiling o'er the globe;
Attended by the jocund hours,
And all her vivifying pow'rs;
When from his roost descending low,
Sir CHANTICLEER prepar'd to crow,
The captive saw; when in dismay
He scream'd, and wing'd his fearful way—
Dame PARTLETT heard the dire alarm,
Sure signal of approaching harm;
Obey'd the well known, faithful sound,
And like its echo flutter'd round:
Ducks, Geese and Turkies join'd the cry,
With such prevailing energy,
That from his bed the LAWYER rose,
With haste, which disregarded cloaths;
And ran directly to the place,
Where culprit lay, in doleful case;
Whom when he saw with raptur'd eyes,
I've caught thee then at last! he cries;
And will myself, both judge and jury,
Let loose upon thee all my fury.
Thou murd'rous rogue, infernal thief,
Of all consummate villains chief;
For nothing that I know of good,
But basely shedding helpless blood;
A ling'ring fate shall stop thy breath,
And give thee, inch by inch, to death.
Poor REYNARD heard the dreadful doom,
And wish'd the LAWYER in his room;
He trembled, yet resolv'd to die
With most heroic dignity;
And now, beyond the verge of Hope,
He gave his tongue its utmost scope.
Shall I, he cried, sustain abuse,
Nor let, tho' bound, resentment loose?
Be silent while a monster talks,
Because upon two legs he walks?
And boasts of something, Reason nam'd,
Which all his actions have disclaim'd:
A monster, shameful to his kind,
To ev'ry honest feeling blind;
With tongue of guile, with heart of flint,
And soul of villainy the
mint.
What you, Sir LAWYER, thieving call,
In FOXES is no crime at all;
Impell'd by Nature, we pursue
Our destin'd game with honest view;
To satisfy—and what more right?
The urgent calls of appetite;
Nor seek with avaricious skill,
For sake of sordid gain to kill:
Besides, no FOX e'er robs his brother,
But mankind plunder one another;
And such as you are doubly curst,
Of all the human robbers worst;
Who find in ev'ry case a flaw,
And JUSTICE put to flight, by LAW.
If then of right you make a plea,
For partial sentence pass'd on me;
Resign at once your ill got pelf,
And much more justly hang yourself.
FABLE XXIII. THE CONQUEROR AND CAPTIVE.
SUCCESS intoxicates the brain,
And sometimes makes the wisest vain.
Who that examines age, or youth,
Can controvert so plain a truth?
That sees false Fame, or solid pelf,
So much increase important self,
That LILLIPUTIAN worth can rise,
A mighty BROBDIGNAG in size;
Thence mild benevolence is lost,
And tyrant pride assumes its post.
It happen'd once—suppose the time,
The regal titles, and the clime,
There reign'd a Prince of mighty pow'r,
Who having much, still wanted more;
Who, Frenchman like, with envious eye,
Beheld the realms of liberty;
And still for war would frame pretence
Of glory stain'd, or self defence.
Behold him to the field burst forth!
An emblem of the boist'rous North,
When with its most tempestuous gales
It desolates hills, woods and dales.
His oft try'd martial prowess spread
Through neighb'ring states a gen'ral dread;
An ape of mighty CAESAR'S name,
He went, he saw, and overcame—
O'er bulwark'd towns he made his way,
While ravish'd conquest own'd his sway;
One kingdom gain'd, the next he view'd
With eyes ambitious; and pursu'd
FORTUNE, that vain capricious dame,
Who eager seem'd to urge his fame;
(Like other ladies, then most pleas'd,
When most sollicited and teas'd;)
With partial grace still deign'd to bless
His boldest actions with success;
Whose only business was to fight,
Whate'er the cause, or wrong, or right;
Till glutted he at length declined
T' indulge the fever of his mind;
Yet fond of pomp, and madly vain,
He brought in his triumphant train
SIX CAPTIVE KINGS! sad spoil of war!
To draw like beasts, his splendid car:
The day was fix'd, when such a sight
He thought would give the throng delight;
By various means most subjects strove
To show their loyalty, and love;
Arches
were rais'd, and trophies plac'd,
In ev'ry spot which might be grac'd;
The VICTOR, almost deified,
By popular applause, and pride,
Could scarce vouchsafe to cast his eye
On any thing beneath the sky;
And silently appear'd to say,
All Nature must admit my sway.
At length a downward look he gave,
And chanc'd to view one ROYAL SLAVE;
Who turning ey'd, with thought profound,
The chariot wheel that circled round;
The placid smile which o'er his face
Had shed a mild peculiar grace;
The easy air and just disdain,
With which he wore his golden chain,
Alarm'd the VICTOR; who demanded,
What his attention so commanded.
My mind, the Captive cries, is bent
To calm misfortunes, with content;
As in that circling wheel I see,
Of life the brief epitome:
The part which now is highest, must
One single turn replace in dust;
So thou, tho' present laurels bloom,
May, ere thy bones shall reach the tomb,
By some inverted stroke of fate,
Have cause to mourn thy fallen state;
Without a friend to sooth thy care;
None follow
Tyrants
in despair;
While vulture Conscience stings thy mind,
For endless wrongs to human kind.
The greatest Prince should learn this truth,
That sure as age succeeds to youth;
So Time devouring swallows all;
Empires themselves, but rise, to fall,
However glorious, and renown'd,
Since life is but a varying round.
Swift as an arrow to the heart,
Conviction sent her pointed dart;
Pride wish'd indeed to stop its course,
But yielded to resistless force;
And said, that she would taint no more
The bosom of the Conqueror;
Who, from the CAR descending, gave
His hand to ev'ry ROYAL SLAVE;
Unloos'd their shackles, and declar'd
His pow'r should henceforth be their guard;
Should stand a barrier to the weak,
And all oppression's fetters break.
The CAPTIVES struck, due homage paid,
And for their kind deliverer pray'd:
More careful now of native blood,
The unshaken friend of peace, he stood;
Disbanded Conquest, with her train,
For virtues of a Patriot reign;
And long the royal pleasure prov'd,
Of being much less
fear'd,
than
lov'd.
FABLE XXIV. THE MAGPYE AND LARK.
A MAGPYE, who with constant rattle,
Could fast as any gossip prattle;
A forward, pert, conceited elf,
Enraptur'd with delightful self;
Beheld a LARK who sung hard by,
With much contempt and scornful eye.
The songster heard with patient ears,
A multitude of daily sneers;
And bore them all, howe'er absurd,
Nor answer'd once the coxcomb bird;
But like a wise domestic did
Whate'er his tender master bid;
No business minded, but his own,
And studied grateful songs alone.
No SPARTAN in the pilf'ring art
Could play with more success his part,
Than did the MAGPYE: when set free
To bear young master company;
Whate'er his bill, and strength could take,
He bore away for mischief's sake;
For things thus lost, if servants fought,
'Twas happiness supreme he thought:
His mistress, too, he told of all
Which in the kitchen could befall;
What sweethearts were admitted there,
How long they staid, and what their fare;
Nor could the maidens undescried,
A secret dish of tea provide;
Nay, rather, tattler like, than fail,
He'd soon invent a curious tale.
One morning, all he thought at rest,
(The greatest knaves are fools at best;)
In triumph, to the LARK he cries,
What ho, you warbler of the skies,
If any spirit fir'd your heart,
How could you act this hum-drum part;
Thus idly pass an useless age,
Within the limits of your cage,
And only strain with empty note,
Your most unprofitable throat?
While I'm so active in the house,
I scarcely miss a stirring mouse;
I see, I hear, and straight unfold,
Whate'er may make our mistress scold;
Who loves, you know, or right or wrong,
To exercise her
ceaseless
tongue;
And when I've made a hideous pother,
Flings me some nice tit bit, or other—
Besides, it is my constant plan,
To steal, and hide whate'er I can;
Then shrewdly tell the servant's name,
I wish to brand with loss and shame:
Thus, little short, as I can see,
Of human wit and policy;
My happy talents are display'd,
Of nothing, but our CAT, afraid;
While you so little notice claim,
Scarce once a week I hear your name;
And like the wild ones of your breed,
Have no regale, but sod, or seed.
A servant maid, at morning's break,
By Love, or Conscience kept awake;
Heard MAGGY'S tale; when, fir'd with rage,
She flew directly to his cage;
Then seiz'd him, and with many a thump,
Convey'd him underneath the pump;
Where dous'd and drench'd almost to death;
While yet he drew some doubtful breath,
Tattler, LARDELLA cry'd, take that;
Then threw him to the hungry CAT.
The LARK, who heard but did not see,
This boaster's sad catastrophe,
Reflected thus; designing Knaves,
To sordid, selfish passions slaves;
Assisted by dishonest guile,
'Tis true, may shine in life awhile;
But where, at length, is all their gain,
Enjoying sweets to purchase pain?
To boast, I find, with vicious pride,
Of useful talents misapplied;
A knavish heart, and tattling tongue,
From whence arises social wrong,
Will haply bring, or soon, or late,
Repentance, with untimely fate.
On no ambitious purpose bent,
With competence, and ease content;
I envy not the brightest parts,
Devoted to pernicious arts;
Let me enjoy, the songster said,
An honest Heart, and peaceful Head.
FABLE XXV. THE FINE LADY AND THE SUN.
WRETCHES there are, and many too,
Whose wishes only
self
pursue;
Let partial Fortune deign to grant,
Whate'er their whims, or passions want;
They value not, should mankind all
To sure and swift perdition fall.
A female, more than HELEN fair,
Whose beauty was her fav'rite care;
Assaulted by meridian heat,
Sought out, in vain, a cool retreat;
The glowing air now grown intense,
Thro' each apartment gave offence;
Which caus'd her, so relates our tale,
Against the SUN himself to rail.
I wonder, says the dainty dame,
That such a vile obnoxious flame,
So rude to fashionable eyes,
Should ev'ry day ascend the skies;
Or quitting of a distant sphere,
Be suffer'd to approach so near.
Spotless, as new descended snow,
In Winter's happy time, I show;
But when the Summer's heat takes place,
Six horrid FRECKLES shame my face;
Nor dare I paint—oh dire vexation!
For fear of dreadful
perspiration.
I wish, kind heav'n, eternal night
Adorn'd with milder candle-light,
Would rule the world, with kindly sway,
And banish tell-tale, useless day.
Who hears from love so sweet a sound,
As when with friendly darkness crown'd?
No needless blushes then disgrace,
With aukward shame, a lady's face;
How often does this Sun advance,
To spoil a game of cards, or dance?
What jewels can so brightly blaze,
Outlust'red by his rival rays?
What charms so faultless can appear,
When his revealing light is near?
Which never suffers friendly art
To play, with kind disguise, its part;
'Tis hence that nymphs upon the green
Are to the most advantage seen,
And rural beauties oft outvie
A W-ldgr-ve—or a C-v-nt-y.
Oh that a kind eclipse would take
His pow'r away, for Beauty's sake;
And with a mild nocturnal robe,
Cloath for
my
life, at least, the Globe;
Or if, ye Gods, he still must rise,
Confine him to mechanic eyes:
What soul of spirit can endure,
To share him with the vulgar poor?
The list'ning Sun, who heard from high,
Wing'd on a beam this just reply.
Know, brainless creature, void of sense,
Thy railing cannot give offence;
The course of Nature's perfect frame,
Is proof—against thy feeble blame;
Yet to chastise thy empty prate,
And end this frothy, pert debate,
Hear then, and own thy vacant heart
Prompts thee to play an ideot part.
Think'st thou variety is shown,
To please, or profit thee alone?
Think'st thou the seasons go and come,
Like ladies from or to a
drum?
That Earth and Water, Sky and Air,
Are only form'd to make thee fair?
Thou say'st that I am Beauty's foe,
Whence comes the Rose's healthful glow?
Who paints to thy delighted view,
The LILLY white, the VIOLET blue?
Who gives the fragrant PINK perfume,
Who bids the gaudy TULIP bloom?
Whose pow'r the tillage can adorn,
With golden crops of wavy corn?
Who animates each rural scene,
And mantles o'er the fields with green?
Whatever grows, or walks, or flies,
Without my kind assistance dies;
Ev'n thou, vain child of common clay,
Without my vivifying ray,
Disrob'd of all thy trinkets, must
Return with speed to parent dust;
There, by thy modish friends forgot,
Soon as the poorest slave to rot.
Thou little dost, who so much swerve
From common sense, advice deserve;
Yet hear, unworthy as thou art,
While I assume the friendly part,
And counsel give, of such a kind,
As may correct thy fickle mind;
May set thy fetter'd reason loose,
And free thy mind from self-abuse.
Instead of lovers at thy toilet,
Who only beauty praise to spoil it;
Who flutter round like tainting flies,
To make thy rifled sweets their prize;
Give up to some deserving mate,
Thy single, fruitless dang'rous state;
Become in time a virtuous wife,
And learn to taste a prudent life:
For time inverted in its flight,
For slothful day, and vicious night;
For rambling visits, cards and dice,
For pleasures bought at VIRTUE'S price;
Let some domestic useful care
Thy well applied attention share;
Yet, think not that I mean to say,
Thou can'st not be with prudence gay;
For pleasures most sincere we find,
Where prudence is with virtue join'd.
Behold thy lisping infants rise,
To fill with joy maternal eyes;
On such the truest bliss depends,
In them see husband, parents, friends;
Behold like tender plants they shoot,
Cherish their blossoms into fruit;
To rip'ning morals pay regard,
Repress the bad, the good reward;
Join in their sports, and always try
To give a taste of industry;
Let calm correction, wanted, prove
That justice guides parental love;
And rather give thy heart some pain,
Than hold the reins of pow'r in vain.
Bless'd in his love, and form'd to bless,
Make thine thy husband's happiness;
If any ruffle should arise,
(For storms may gloom the brightest skies)
Smile him with gentle looks to peace,
And bid unruly passions cease;
Last, shunning empty, lavish pride,
Be ev'ry day in dress a bride.
These rules pursu'd, thy sight must be
In proper seasons fond of me;
And night will only then seem best,
When weary Nature calls for rest.
FABLE XXVI. THE LION, BEAR AND APE.
IT happen'd, as in human kind,
A LION, to his errors blind,
(No more than battle to the strong,
Does wisdom to the great belong)
Admir'd an APE, a flatt'ring sprite,
Who prais'd his actions, wrong or right;
Who when it thunder'd, kindly swore,
'Twas nothing to his Monarch's roar;
When lightning flash'd along the sky,
'Twas nothing to his piercing eye;
And vow'd that his majestic face,
Put human nature to disgrace;
For which the sycophant, in short,
Was Laureat made, and went to Court;
While haughty distance curb'd a BEAR,
Who lov'd his PRINCE with honest care;
Because the undissembling creature,
As rough in temper, as in feature,
By loyalty, and prudence taught,
Still plainly utter'd what he thought;
Some wholesome truths would oft advance,
Ne'er found in GALLIC complaisance,
And often, like a Patriot, would
Remind his King of PUBLIC GOOD.
Attended by this contrast pair,
The Lion went to take the air;
When, as along a wood they stray'd,
Sir APE fresh protestations made;
Declar'd his head, his heart, and all,
Were ready at the Monarch's call;
Come Danger from each point, he cries,
That the winds blow, thro' wintry skies;
Let Fate, with all its terrors crown'd,
Spread all her strongest toils around;
Fearless 'twould be my greatest pride,
To shed my blood in crimson tide;
And bravely fall, no more to rise,
Before my Royal Master's eyes.
But wherefore this, since conquests tell,
How much he is invincible?
The whisking of whose dreadful tail,
Can stoutest hearts with fear assail;
Whose mortal fangs and tusks defy
All nature turn'd his enemy;
Let ev'ry beast, then, chorus join,
To hail a MONARCH so divine.
The BEAR heard all, yet nothing said,
But jog'd along, and shook his head.
At length appear'd, from neighb'ring plain,
Of hunters a terrific train!
The startled beasts, who saw too late,
The near approach of frowning fate,
No time had left to shape their course,
Before assail'd with hostile force.
At the first glimpse our valiant APE
Up a huge tree made swift escape;
And left, as his securest way,
His Prince, he thought an easy prey.
Cowards, themselves, who cannot fly,
Will rather fight, than tamely die;
No wonder then heroic hearts,
In such a case, should play their parts.
BRUIN, with fatal grasp, display'd
Much merit in the fighting trade;
Press'd out by force th' unwilling breath,
Embracing many foes to death.
Impregnable the LION stood,
Till cover'd with his hunters' blood;
Who hopeless, on th' approach of night,
Gave up a long and doubtful fight;
Taught by the royal beast to yield,
And leave him master of the field.
Soon as the APE beheld from high,
A vanquish'd, harmless enemy,
He reach'd the ground with nimble pace,
Ten thousand bows, and fawning face;
Gave LEO joy of warlike fame,
Of safety, and a deathless name;
Then wanting words to suit his praise,
Concluded with three loud huzzas.
Lip-love could now deceive no more;
His monarch with tremendous roar,
Full in the BEAR'S delighted view,
The sycophantic coward slew;
Then cried, Henceforth no fawning slave,
No fair-fac'd, flatt'ring, heartless knave,
Shall ever royal favour share—
Henceforth 'tis thine,—my trusty BEAR.
The prince, or subject who depends
On flatt'ring, or professing friends,
When Danger with tempestuous gales,
In most tremendous form assails,
Will find the sun-shine minions fly
The clouds of dark adversity.
FABLE XXVII. THE COCK AND PEACOCK.
A PEACOCK which, as oft you've heard,
In classic times was JUNO'S bird,
Of rich and gaudy plumage proud,
Assum'd precedence o'er the croud;
And, coxcomb like, not knowing whether
True merit lay in heart, or feather;
He exercis'd his taunting wit,
On whom, and when he thought most fit.
One luckless day, his spirits high,
As CHANTICLEER was passing by;
An honest bird who never tried,
To fawn and flatter empty pride;
With insolence of word and look,
His haughty, restless mind he broke.
Why how now, GINGER, what's the matter,
That you presum'd to make such clatter?
You strut, and crow, and clap your wings,
'Till all our master's court-yard rings;
Such rude behaviour, such a noise,
The pleasure of my life destroys.
I seldom raise my tuneful note,
To shame thy most discordant throat,
Else all the birds would soon agree,
To sing my praise, and banish thee.
Besides, you shamefully neglect
To pay my worship due respect—
Be prudent then, nor more provoke
That rage, which yet has turn'd to joke
Thy crimes; or know, thou wilt expose
Thy safety to a world of foes.
Tho' I alone, beyond dissembling,
Can set thy paltry heart a trembling.
He said; and turning with disdain,
Display'd his rich embroider'd train;
Which shone an emblem of the skies,
Adorn'd with ARGUS' hundred eyes.
The COCK, like every bird of sense,
Still slow to give, or take offence;
For some time heard with patience cool,
This gaudy, shallow-pated fool:
The censure on his voice and air,
He rightly judg'd beneath his care;
But touch'd upon the master string
Of Courage—Passion straight took wing;
His feathers rose, and o'er his head
The crimson tinge of rage was spread.
Shall my fair name receive a blot,
He cries, from such an empty sot?
Shall I, who in the mortal pit,
My blood have shed, to thee submit?
Whate'er their show, I like not birds,
Made merely up of looks and words:
Prepare, and stand upon thy guard,
I seldom strike, but always hard.
He flew with such a willing mind,
At once he smote the PEACOCK blind;
Who fell to earth, and prostrate lay,
Of pain, and shame, the hapless prey;
Which seen, the gen'rous victor cried,
Unhappy wretch, I'm satisfied;
Thy eyes have paid the forfeit due;
Henceforth dwell peace 'twixt me and you;
To conquer gratifies the brave,
Whose second pleasure is to save;
For this I'll prove a tender friend,
And sooth the loss I cannot mend:
But let thy fate henceforth advise
The race of FOPLINGS to be wise;—
All, who like thee, in show delight,
Most justly merit loss of sight.
FABLE XXVIII. THE WASPS AND BEES.
A BEE, the leader of its hive,
As great as any BEE alive;
Of enterprizing disposition,
A warrior, and a politician;
As once he took his humming flight,
Upon a cowship chanc'd to light;
And while from golden cup he drew
Luxurious draughts of honey dew,
A jealous WASP, with words like these,
Abus'd in him the race of BEES.
Why, how now, thou maroding elf,
Thou dost not surely know thyself;
Else couldst thou not pretend to range,
From clime to clime in search of change;
And plunder all the fields along,
Where'er thou com'st, or right or wrong;
But BEES, indeed, both great and small,
Are little less than robbers all;
A poor, dependent set of knaves,
To undeserving mankind slaves;
Who think their citadel of straw
Should keep the INSECT world in awe.
Hence let me warn thee from this spot,
Which Nature has ordain'd my lot;
Or else, tho' thousands should protect,
Some dreadful punishment expect;
Annihilation, without trace
Of you, or any of your race—
The BEE with sullen wonder heard,
And, fearless, weigh'd each single word;
Thrice he in vain essay'd to speak,
Thrice could not teeming silence break;
Just pride the pow'r of speech restrain'd;
For tho' he felt, he still disdain'd
To enter singly in the lift
With such a vile antagonist;
So spread his pinions, and retreated,
In haste, as if he'd been defeated.
Great thoughts, at once, the WASP inspire,
To see his hated foe retire;
His nest he sought with eager haste,
And being in the center plac'd,
Declar'd with how much spirit he
Had guarded public property.
When he had told the sanguine tale,
Which pride imagin'd could not fail
High in the rolls of deathless FAME,
To blazon his immortal name;
Debates, which made no little clatter,
Arose about th' important matter.
Some prais'd, while some express'd dislike;
Worth cannot all opinions strike;
The young and forward wasps agreed,
Some honours should be strait decreed;
For less 'twas thought they could not render,
To such a spirited defender.
One, glibber tongu'd than all the rest,
Thus plausibly harangued the nest:
I know not why, my valiant friends,
Since justice on ourselves depends,
Maroding BEES uncheck'd should roam,
While fearful we remain at home:
Do we not boast as nimble wings,
As mighty hearts, as deadly stings?
Glory invites, with friendly call,
Shall we not own the summons all?
Forth let us fly, and strait engage
Our mortal foes, with martial rage:
If none of greater merit claim
The foremost post in paths of FAME,
Boldly in front myself I'll place,
And danger's first approaches face;
Live with immortal honour crown'd,
Or bravely fall, a WASP renown'd.
My friends, replies an aged Sire,
Fools only specious show admire;
Sound policy, and solid sense,
Will ponder still the consequence;
In states we find, as private life,
There's little got by ill-tim'd strife.
Perhaps, I may appear too stoic,
To censure measures so heroic;
But know, you'll find on coolest thought,
Ev'n HONEY may be dearly bought;
Kind Nature yields sufficient store
To feed us all; what need we more?
We may be happy, if we please,
As peaceful WASPS, or peaceful BEES;
But if we plunge ourselves in war,
We cannot tell the end of care;
Let INSECTS what they have enjoy,
And monster MAN his kind destroy.
This sage advice, however right,
Was treated with a gen'ral slight.
Mean while the BEES a message sent,
To know their
waspish
foes intent;
Whether submission should release,
From threaten'd war, and give them peace,
Or resolute in bold defiance,
On Fortune they would fix reliance?
Remonstrance to the
Quixote
train
Of pride-swell'd insects, prov'd in vain;
They bade the Herald wing his flight,
And say their wishes were to fight;
That blows, that wounds, that death alone,
With horrors and distress unknown,
In that, or any other age,
Their kindled fury could asswage.
The BEES, determin'd to chastise
This haughty slight of compromize,
A war began; and Fortune sate
Three summer months, in doubtful state,
On which to turn the fav'ring gale,
Suspending nicely Conquest's scale;
While many stingless champions lay,
To hungry spiders easy prey;
Till both sides wearied, thought it best,
For that campaign, at least, to rest.
Their suff'rings in the field were great,
Yet home produc'd a sharper fate;
For now the flow'ry time was o'er,
Design'd to furnish Winter's store;
In vain they sought the russet fields,
The year declin'd no nurture yields;
Pale Famine gave a gen'ral shock,
On finding Glory all their stock.
Our warriors wounded to the heart,
Breath'd out despair on either part;
Forgot the trivial cause of strife,
So hanging o'er the verge of life,
Agreed to curse ambitious Pride—
Sad counsellor!—and starving dy'd.
FABLE XXIX. THE POET AND PEN.
WELL sung the BARD, that some "in
spite
Of Nature, and their stars, will write;
"
Proofs rise on proofs that ev'ry age
Mounts DUNCES upon Learning's stage;
Who write, and write, and write away,
For empty fame, or solid pay;
On Deaths, Births, Marriages compose,
Whole reams of flimsy—Verse or Prose
With self-applause admire their wit,
Whene'er the public taste they hit—
Such pinching want too oft endure—
What then? MAEONIDES was poor—
Hence comfort springs—for what was HE,
Each BLOCKHEAD cries, pray, more than ME?
In
Grub-street,
rais'd three stories high,
His garret previous to the sky;
One day a luckless son of rhime,
To sooth his grief, and kill his time,
Thus spoke the anguish of his heart,
Shall I still play the passive part;
When Envy's utmost wrath is hurl'd
Against me by a thankless world?
When all my genius, all my pains,
Amount to such penurious gains;
Instead of the Falernian flask,
I drain the dregs of small beer cask;
And almost a Chamelion grown,
I'm taught to live on air alone;
The rats and mice may when they please
My cupboard haunt, nor hurt my cheese;
My russet coat, which once was black,
Hangs piecemeal o'er my shiv'ring baek;
And nightly on too short a bed,
Like
Codrus
Vid. JUVENAL.
, I recline my head;
All this to thee—worst plague of men,
I owe, thou most accursed PEN!
Oh that my fingers long ere now,
Instead of THEE, had grasp'd the PLOW!
Or plac'd in a contented stall,
Had learn'd to push the jocund awl;
Intrinsic merit then like mine
Had not as pearl been cast to
Swine.
His PEN, which heard, made this reply,
Truth, Scribbler, may thy charge deny;
Convicted folly seeks excuse,
The best of things admit abuse;
And often so against our wills,
Appears the injur'd race of Quills.
Of men and their caprice the slaves,
We serve the turn of
Fools
and
Knaves;
Fools
always think that they command
Our movements with a master's hand;
And
Knaves
affecting Virtue's cause,
Assail through us her wisest laws.
The Author who would merit fame,
Whose wishes grasp a lasting name,
Distinguish'd in his works should be
By genius, sense, and honesty;
Without the last, the former two
Are glitt'ring serpents fair to view;
Which flatter with a spangled skin,
While deadliest poison lurks within.
Did I, or any other quill,
Endeavour to mislead thy will;
Had I the power to turn aside
Thy confidence, and forward pride?
'Tis true, thou hast not wanted care
To make thy labours popular;
And never miss'd occasion fit,
To shew thy politicks and wit;
To praise, or censure, ever prone,
Where profit mark'd a cause thy own;
Thou hast not fail'd to join the cry,
And bawl out—
Wilkes
and
Liberty!
Yet rated as a babbling hound,
Contempt thy vain endeavours crown'd;
You think, you write, you print in vain,
And torture me with fruitless pain:
'Tis not each wight who chinks a rhime,
That shines the CHURCHILL of his time;
Tho' he—but hush, the hand of Death
Shuts
Censure's lips, and stops her breath.
Could'st thou with noble heart and mind,
Like LYTTELTON, inform mankind;
From whom with ease and vigour flows,
The elegance of verse and prose.
Could'st thou on Fancy's rapid wing,
In strains like nervous MASON sing;
Like him range Nature's ample field,
And such enchanting prospects yield.
Could'st thou with elegiac GRAY,
In slowly, sad funereal lay,
Such passion-quelling truths impart,
As charm at once, and mend the heart.
Or could'st thou on the
comic
stage,
Like sprightly COLMAN shew the age,
The rustic, fop, and jealous fool,
With justice turn'd to ridicule;
Then Genius taking proper bent,
Had made thy pen an ornament.
Shall DUNCES blot with Gothic rage,
A
Virgil
's or a
Milton
's page—
In mad
revenge,
for want of
toste,
Lay the fair field of
Science
waste?
Suppress thy self-sufficient spirit,
Allow that
others
may have
Merit;
Your genius suit, whate'er it be,
You'll never blame the
World,
nor ME.
FABLE XXX. THE MILK WHITE MOUSE.
ARE there who own a ray of sense,
Yet controvert a PROVIDENCE?
Who see the glorious Sun arise,
To light our Globe, and gild the skies;
Who view those countless gems which grace
The boundless, blue Aethereal space;
Who hear the Thunder's awful crash,
Who see the Light'ning's fearful flash;
The fleecy clouds, the azure main,
Th' aspiring hill, and humble plain;
Who e'er have seen with curious eye,
The wonders of Anatomy;
Or view in order most correct,
Beyond what mortals could project,
The vegetable world advance,
Yet say that All is born of chance?
Why Sceptics labour to disprove,
Almighty Pow'r, Almighty Love;
And madly shut conviction out,
To entertain the Phantom Doubt;
Say, WALMSLEY
Of
New Malton, Yorkshire.
—for to thee is known,
RELIGION plac'd on REASON'S throne;
And none with fitter head, or heart,
Her balmy precepts can impart;
Remove the veil from darken'd eyes,
Bid Truth in all her charms arise;
And pour resistless on the sight,
To show "WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT;"—
Unless when ignorance or pride,
From Wisdom's precepts turn aside.
Lo!—form'd on Nature's noblest plan,
How discontent, how vain is man?
How groundless in ill plac'd desires,
As opposite as frosts and fires;
Let Seasons vary as they will,
Some cares, some faults perplex him still:
The scorching Summer burns his ground,
Next Rains descend; and then he's drown'd:
His situation always such,
Heav'n sends too little, or too much.
WISDOM too oft attacks in vain,
Such impious self-created pain;
For Ignorance, a mere BUFFOON,
And Pride, a relative POLTROON,
The blushing Goddess may out-face,
With insolent and low grimace;
Yet where her graver axioms fail,
Disguis'd in ALLEGORIC tale;
Oft with success she plays her part,
And, tickling Fancy, steals the heart;
Then let the Muse in masquerade,
Invoke the friendly,
blue-ey'd
Maid.
Her strains attend, each proud ingrate,
Nor murmur at unerring Fate;
For tho' portentous clouds should low'r,
And tempests shake thy present hour;
The storm may pass, and on its wings
Bear from thy breast ten thousand stings;
And humble Hope, and pious Love,
Draw down protection from above;
Yet howsoe'er thy Fortune sails,
With fav'ring tides, and prosp'rous gales,
With caution steer towards thy port,
Nor 'midst surrounding dangers sport.
A MOUSE, whose silky fur could show
Less fair the purest
Alpine
snow;
Had long a fav'rite cupboard haunted,
For sustenance which Nature wanted;
Nor ever with voracious mind,
At lack of various food repin'd;
But bless'd with crusts of bread and cheese,
Enjoy'd content, and liv'd at ease.
One night—one most important night!
Allur'd by DIAN'S silv'ry light;
The little wand'rer ventur'd out,
And to a neighbour's took its route;
Where soon—its former haunts forsaken—
Drawn by the scent of toasted bacon,
With headlong speed—Oh dire mishap!
It rush'd into the baited trap;
The dainty seiz'd, and bless'd that star,
Which led to such delicious fare;
Admir'd the thought which taught to roam,
From tasteless, mouldy scraps at home,
Then prais'd, with joy, the happier lot
Of this unknown, luxurious spot.
As fools the present moment prize,
Nor forward deign to cast their eyes;
The little
Captive
thought no less,
Than lasting, perfect happiness;
And on reflection grew quite vain,
To think its all-sufficient brain
Alone, with matchless sense profound,
This more than golden mine had found;
How blind all other Mice! it cries,
MYSELF, am
wisest
of the
wise.
Now gorg'd with most delicious cate,
It finds surrounding bars too late;
From top to bottom fear-struck flies,
Attempts to creep, attempts to rise;
But finding it in vain to try,
For home despis'd and liberty;
To give it's anxious heart relief,
On FORTUNE vents the storm of grief;
Exclaims against her as unkind,
And calls her partial, cruel, blind;
Nor once admits, in distant thought,
SELF,
mighty
SELF, in any fault.
The favour it had long enjoy'd,
This single accident destroy'd;
Five minutes unexpected pain,
Now ballanc'd years of blissful gain.
Ungrateful MOUSE!—nay foolish too,
Extend thy dim, contracted view;
Plac'd in thy native cupboard see,
That night GRIMALKIN watch for thee;
And had not fortune led from home,
An hungry CAT had been thy doom;
Then yield to patience fretful strife,
Thy FREEDOM lost prolongs thy LIFE.
With morning came WHIMSILLA'S maid,
By whom the lucky trap was laid.
She came—and seiz'd with strange delight
To see a MOUSE so lovely white,
Straight to her mistress bore in haste,
A gift so suited to her TASTE.
WHIMSILLA views with ravish'd eyes,
So beautiful, so rich a prize,
And struck with each inchanting feature,
Doats on the dear bewitching creature;
What wonders are by trifles wrought?
The silver
cage,
the
almonds
bought,
Away flies ev'ry anxious thought—
No vapours now, happen what will;
No tho' last night she lost—CODILLE.—
Pamper'd, caress'd on ev'ry side,
The captive, too elate with pride,
Grew more distinguishing and nice,
Than any of the tribe of MICE,
Indulg'd excess, nor ever thought
Of what the pleasing change had wrought;
But like a petted, darling child,
With misapplied indulgence wild,
To beauty gave the total merit,
Of all it did, or could inherit;
And vainly said of ev'ry bliss,
My worth deserves much more than this;
For wishes with enjoyment grew,
(Experience proves this maxim true)
'Till fretted Fortune thus pursued,
By folly, and ingratitude,
Resolv'd in just and settled state,
To show a sad reverse of fate.
Each day WHIMSILLA'S love grew stronger;
Her maid could bear her toil no longer;
Who sorely wearied with attendance,
(The servile curse of her dependance)
Resolv'd, that slily turn'd a-drift,
The favorite once more should shift.
This fatal plan no sooner laid,
But when her mistress went to bed,
She quitted her perplexing charge,
And set the
pris'ner
quite at large,
Who by indulgence grown a FOOL,
Ran just beneath a watchful OWL,
Whose crop became a speedy grave,
Whence boasted BEAUTY could not save.
Hence mortals learn—be timely wise—
Check imperfections as they rise;
And know, in those who vainly boast,
Both charms and virtues all are lost;
That human kind, or rich, or poor,
If proud, ungrateful and secure;
Insulted FORTUNE soon may chouse,
Just as she did the MILK WHITE MOUSE.
FABLE XXXI. THE OLYMPIC COURT.
THE GODS in awful synod met
This lower world to regulate,
Resolv'd, in gracious mood, to grant
What mortals most might wish or want;
And gave ten thousand blessings birth
To glad unthankful sons of earth;
Who favour'd with unbounded store,
Pray'd—when they pray'd at all—for more.
JOVE wearied with sollicitation
From ev'ry rank, of ev'ry nation,
Propos'd th' OLYMPIC council should
Conjoin to form a gen'ral good;
Nor longer waste their sacred pow'r
In toys which vanish with the hour.
Why should, says he, a slave of vice
Invoke us to assist his dice?
Shall usurers become so bold
To ask from us fresh heaps of gold?
Dare fleecing lawyers think that we
Hold forth for knaves the quick'ning fee?
Must we, that PHYSIC'S sons may ride,
Breathe pestilence in airy tide?
That ladies may be wrap'd in night,
Ought we to quench celestial light?
To please them all we try in vain,
Do what we can, they will complain:
Then hear, CELESTIALS, what I ask,
Assist me in the glorious task—
Throughout creation's various plan
No work exceeds a virtuous man;
Call ev'ry GRACE from ev'ry part,
Which best improve the MIND and HEART.
I'll give to BRITISH GEORGE an Heir
Worthy a royal parent's care;
No monarch more deserves regard,
No nation better claims reward;
Then let a PATRIOT PRINCE be born,
Who like his Sire may crowns adorn;
On whom I will myself bestow
Perfections mortals seldom know;
JUSTICE shall all his actions guide,
With Mercy smiling at her side.
When hostile force provokes to war,
You MARS shall guide his rapid car;
And NEPTUNE you shall smooth the tides,
O'er which his conquering navy rides;
APOLLO must his councils wait,
Assistant guardian of the state;
And HERMES, giving voice to sense,
Cloath thou his tongue with eloquence.
CHERUBS who heard the thund'rer speak,
Their joy in acclamations break;
While echo wing'd on spicy gales
Resounded GEORGE—
our
—PRINCE of WALES.
One care remain'd yet unadjusted,
To whom the Prince might be entrusted;
MINERVA said, for mankind's sake,
She on herself the task would take.
JOVE lik'd what she propos'd, and cried,
We could not wish a better guide;
Go take the stile of FINCH,
LADY CHARLOTTE.
and prove
The feelings of a mother's love;
With virtues warm, and judgment cool,
Instruct thy infant charge to rule:
The Goddess smil'd; and now is seen
Just delegate of BRITAIN'S QUEEN.
FINIS.