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And every shocking vice beside ;
But, when to virtuous hands 'tis given,
It blesses, like the dews of heaven:
Like heaven, it hears the orphan's cries,
And wipes the tears from widows' eyes.
Their crimes on gold shall misers lay,
Who pawn'd their sordid souls for pay?
Let bravos, then, when blood is spilt,
Upbraid the passive sword with guilt."
THE LION, THE FOX, AND THE GEESE.
A lion, tir'd with state-affairs,
Quite sick of pomp, and worn with cares,
Resolv'd (remote from noise and strife)
In peace to pass his latter life.
It was proclaim'd; the day was set;
Behold the general council met.
The fox was viceroy nam’d. The crowd
To the new regent humbly bow'd.
Wolves, bears, and mighty tigers bend,
And strive who most shall condescend.
He straight assumes a solemn grace,
Collects his wisdom in his face.
The crowd admire his wit, his sense;
Each word hath weight and consequence.
The flatterer all his art displays:
He who hath power is sure of praise.
A fox stept forth before the rest,
And thus the servile throng addrest:
“ How vast his talents, born to rule,
And train'd in virtue's honest school!
What clemency his temper sways!
How uncorrupt are all his ways !
Beneath his conduct and command,
Rapine shall cease to waste the land.
His brain hath stratagem and art;
Prudence and mercy rule his heart.
What blessings must attend the nation
Under this good administration."
He said. A goose who distant stood,
Harangu'd apart the cackling brood :
" Whene'er I hear a knave commend,
He bids me shun his worthy friend.
What praise! what mighty commendation!
But 'twas a fox who spoke th' oration,
Foxes this government may prize,
As gentle, plentiful and wise ;
If they enjoy the sweets, 'tis plain
We geese must feel a tyrant reign.
What havoc now shall thin our race,
When every petty clerk in place,
To prove bis taste, and seem polite,
Will feed on geese both noon and night!"
THE MONKEY WHO HAD SEEN TIE WORLD. Must I be censur'd,
curs’d, accus'a ?
A monkey, to reform the times,
Resolv'd to visit foreign climes ;
To bring politer manners home.
So forth he fares, all toil defies:
Misfortune serves to make us wise,
At length the treacherous snare was laid; 'Tis avarice, insolences and pride,
For men in distant regions roam,
Poor Pug was caught; to town convey'd;
Proficient in the toilette's duty; There sold. (How envy'd was his doom,
Had form’d her sleeve, confin'd her hair, Made captive in a lady's room !)
Or given her knot a smarter air ; Proud, as a lover, of his chains,
Now nearest to her heart was plac'd, He day by day her favour gains.
Now in her mantua's tail disgrac'd: Whene'er the duty of the day
But could she partial fortune blame, The toilette calls, with mimic play
Who saw her lovers serv'd the same ? He twirls her knots, he cracks her fan,
At length from all her honours cast, Like any other gentleman.
Through various turns of life she past; In visits too, his parts and wit,
Now glitter'd on a taylor's arm, When jests grew dull, were sure to hit.
Now kept a beggar's infant warm; Proud with applause he thought his mind
Now, rang’d within a miser's coat, In every courtly art refin'd;
Contributes to his yearly groat ; Like Orpheus, burnt with public zeal,
Now rais'd again from low approach, To civilize the monkey-weal;
She visits in the doctor's coach : So watch'd occasion, broke his chain,
Here, there, by various fortune tost, And sought his native woods again.
At last in Gresham hall was lost. The hairy sylvans round him press,
Charm'd with the wonders of the show, Astonish'd at his strut and dress.
On every side, above, below, Some praise his sleeve, and others gloat
She now of this or that inquires, Upon his rich embroider'd coat;
What least was understood admires. His dapper perriwig commending,
'Tis plain, each thing so struck her mind, With the black tail behind depending ;
Her head's of virtuoso kind. His powder'd back, above, below,
“ And pray what's this, and this, dear sir ?" Like hoary frosts, or fleecy snow;
“ A needle,” says th' interpreter. But all, with envy and desire,
She knew the name; and thus the fool His fluttering shoulder-knot admire.
Address'd her as a taylor's tool. “ Hear and improve," he pertly cries :
" A needle with that filthy stone, I come to make a nation wise.
Quite idle, all with rust o'ergrown; Weigh your own worth ; support your place, You better might employ your parts, The next in rank to human race.
And aid the sempstress in her arts; In cities long I pass'd my days,
But tell me how the friendship grew Convers’d with men, and learn'd their ways. Between that paltry flint and you." Their dress, their courtly manners see ;
“ Friend,” says the needle," cease to blame; Reform your state, and copy me.
I follow real worth and fame. Seek ye to thrive? In flattery deal ;
Know'st thou the loadstone's power and art, Your scorn, your hate, with that conceal.
That virtue virtues can impart? Seem only to regard your friends,
Of all his talents I partake: But use them for your private ends.
Who then can such a friend forsake? Stint not to truth the flow of wit;
'Tis I direct the pilot's hand Be prompt to lie whene'er 'tis fit.
To shun the rocks and treacherous sand: Bend all your force to spatter merit;
By me the distant world is known, Scandal is conversation's spirit.
And either India is our own. Boldly to every thing pretend,
Had I with milliners been bred, And men your talents shall commend.
What had I been the guide of thread; I knew the great. Observe me right;
And drudg'd as vulgar needles do,
Of no more consequence than you.”
THE PAINTER WHO PLEASED NOBODY AND EVERT
Lest men suspect your tale untrue, And, fond to copy human ways,
Keep probability in view. Practise new mischiefs all their days.
The traveller leaping o'er those bounds, Thus the dull lad, too tall for school,
The credit of his book confounds. With travel finishes the fool;
Who with his tongue hath armies routed, Studious of every coxcomb's airs,
Makes even his real courage doubted. He drinks, games, dresses, whores, and swears; But flattery never seems absurd; O'erlooks with scorn all virtuous arts,
The flatter'd always takes your word:
Impossibilities seem just; :
Hyperboles, though ne'er so great,
Will still come short of self-conceit.
THE PIN AND THE NEEDLE.
So very like a painter drew,
Sat proudly perking on a rose,
With pert conceit his bosom glows;
His wings (all glorious to behold)
Bedropt with azure, jet, and gold,
Wide he displays; the spangled dew
Reflects his eyes and various hue.
His now-forgotten friend a snail,
Beneath his house, with slimy trail,
Crawls o'er the grass; whom when he spies,
In wrath he to the gardener cries :
“ What means yon peasant's daily toil, Truth should not always be reveal'd:
From choking weeds to rid the soil ?
Why wake you to the morning's care ?
Why with new arts correct the year? Two bustos, fraught with every grace,
Why grows the peach with crimson hue ?
And why the plum's inviting blue?
Were they to feast his taste design'd,
That vermin of voracious kind!
Crush then the slow, the pilfering race,
So purge thy garden from disgrace."
" What arrogance !” the snail reply'd; His pallet ready o'er his thumb.
“ How insolent is upstart pride !
Hadst thou not thus, with insult vain,
Provok'd my patience to complain,
I had conceal'd thy meaner birth,
Nor trac'd thee to the scum of earth:
For scarce nine suns have wak'd the hours,
To swell the fruit, and paint the flowers, Might well a Raphael's hand require,
Since I thy humbler life survey'd, To give them all the native fire;
In base, in sordid guise array’d; The features, fraught with sense and wit,
A hideous insect, vile, unclean, You'll grant, are very hard to hit;
You dragg'd a slow and noisome train ;
And from your spider bowels drew
Foul film, and spun the dirty clue.
I own my humble life, good friend; “ Till now I thought my mouth was wide;
Snail was I born, and snail shall end.
And what's a butterfly? at best
He's but a caterpillar drest; “Oh! pardon me,” the artist cry'd;
And all thy race (a numerous seed) " In this we painters must decide.
Shall prove of caterpillar breed.” The piece ev’n common eyes must strike,
THE FOX AT THE POINT OF DEATH, I warrant it extremely like.” My lord examin'd it anew ;
A fox, in life's extreme decay,
Weak, sick, and faint, expiring lay :
All appetite had left his maw,
And age disarm'd his mumbling jaw. Her lover prais'd the painter's art;
His numerous race around him stand, So like the picture in his heart!
To learn their dying sire's command:
He rais'd his head with whining moan, To every age some charm he lent; Ev'n beauties were almost content.
And thus was heard the feeble tone:
“ Ah! sons! from evil ways depart; Through all the town his art they prais'd ;
My crimes lie heavy on my heart.
Why are those bleeding turkeys there? Would any man the picture own ?
Why all around this cackling train,
Who haunt my ears for chickens slain ?"
The hungry foxes round them star'd,
And for the promis'd feast prepar'd.
" Where, sir, is all this dainty cheer? All upstarts, insolent in place,
Nor turkey, goose, nor hen, is here. Remind us of their vulgar race.
These are the phantoms of your brain; As in the sunshine of the morn
And your sons lick their lips in vain.”. A butterfly (but newly born)
THE TWO MONKIES.
“ Ogluttons !" says the drooping sire,
Insult not thus the meek and low ; “ Restrain inordinate desire.
In me thy benefactor know; Your liquorish taste you shall deplore,
My warm assistance gave thee birth, When peace of conscience is no more.
Or thou hadst perish'd low in earth ; Does not the hound betray our pace,
But upstarts, to support their station,
Cancel at once all obligation.”
The learned, full of inward pride,
The fops of outward show deride; Would you true happiness attain,
The fop, with learning at defiance, Let honesty your passions rein;
Scoffs at the pedant and the science: So live in credit and esteem,
The Don, a formal solemn strutter, And the good name you lost redeem.”
Despises Monsieur's airs and flutter; “ The counsel's good," a fox replies,
While Monsieur mocks the formal fool, “ Could we perform what you
Who looks, and speaks, and walks, by rule. Think what our ancestors have done ;
Britain, a medley of the twain, A line of thieves from son to son.
As pert as France, as grave as Spain, To us descends the long disgrace,
In fancy wiser than the rest,
Laughs at them both, of both the jest.
Censur'd by all the sons of prose ?
While bards of quick imagination We shall be thought to share the feast.
Despise the sleepy prose narration. The change shall never be believ’d.
Men laugh at apes: they men contemn; A lost good name is ne'er retriev'd.”
For what are we but apes to them? “ Nay, then,” replies the feeble fox,
Two monkies went to Southwark fair, “ (But, lark! I hear a hen that clucks),
No critics had a sourer air ; Go; but be moderate in your food;
They forc'd their way through draggled folks, A chicken, too, might do me good.”
Who gap'd to catch Jack Pudding's jokes;
And got by chance the foremost row.
To see their grave observing face, From Temple-bar to Aldgate-street!
Provok'd a laugh through all the place. Proud rogues, who shared the South-sea prey,
“ Brother,” says Pug, and turu'd his head, And sprung like mushrooms in a day!
“ The rabble's monstrously ill-bred.” They think it mean to condescend
Now through the booth loud hisses ran, To know a brother or a friend ;
Nor ended till the show began. They blush to hear their mother's name,
The tumbler whirls the flip-flap round, And by their pride expose their shame.
With somersets he shakes the ground; As cross his yard, at early day,
The cord beneath the dancer springs; A careful farmer took his way,
Aloft in air the vaulter swings; He stopp'd ; and, leaning on his fork,
Distorted now, now prone depends, Observ'd the flail's incessant work.
Now through his twisted arm ascends. In thought he measur'd all his store,
The crowd, in wonder and delight, His geese, his hogs, he number'd o'er;
With clapping hands applaud the sight. In fancy weigh'd the fleeces shorn,
With smiles, quoth Pug, “ If pranks like these And multiply'd the next year's corn.
The giant apes of reason please, A barley-mow, which stood beside,
How would they wonder at our arts! Thus to its musing master cry'd :
They must adore us for our parts. “ Say, good sir, is it fit or right
High on the twig I've seen you cling, To treat me with neglect and slight?
Play, twist, and turn in airy ring; Me, who contribute to your cheer,
How can those clumsy things, like me, And raise your mirth with ale and beer?
Fly with a bound from tree to tree? Why thus insulted, thus disgrac'd,
But yet, by this applause, we find And that vile dunghill near me plac'd?
These emulators of our kind Are those poor sweepings of a groom,
Discern our worth, our parts regard, That filthy sight, that nauseous fume,
Who our mean mimics thus reward." Meet objects here ? Command it hence;
“ Brother," the grinning mate replies, A thing so mean must give offence.”
“ In this I grant that man is wise : The humble dunghill thus reply'd :
While good example they pursue, “ Thy master hears, and mocks thy pride:
We must allow some praise is due;
THE BARLEY-MOW AND THE DUNGHILL.
THE POET AND THE ROSE.
But, when they strain beyond their guide,
Comply'd with every thing, like Gay, I laugh to scorn the mimic pride;
Was known by all the bestial train For how fantastic is the sight,
Who haunt the wood or graze the plain ; To meet men always bolt upright,
Her care was never to offend; Because we sometimes walk on two!
And every creature was her friend.
As forth she went at early dawn,
Behind she hears the hunter's cries,
And from the deep-mouth'd thunder flies. On ruins of another's fame.
She starts, she stops, she pants for breath ; Thus prudes, by characters o'erthrown,
She hears the near advance of death ; Imagine that they raise their own.
She doubles to mislead the hound, Thus scribblers, covetous of praise,
And measures back her mazy round; Think slander can transplant the bays.
Till, fainting in the public way, Beauties and bards have equal pride,
Half dead with fear she gasping lay. With both all rivals are decry'd.
What transport in her bosom grew, Who praises Lesbia's eyes and feature,
When first the horse appear'd in view! Must call her sister aukward creature ;
“Let me," says she, “ your back ascend, For the kind flattery's sure to charm,
And owe my safety to a friend.
You know my feet betray my fight;
To friendship every burden's light.”
The horse reply'd,“ Poor honest puss, The garden's fragrant breath ascends,
It grieves my heart to see thee thus: And every stalk with odour bends ;
Be comforted, relief is near ; A rose he pluck’d, he gaz'd, admir’d,
For all your friends are in the rear." Thus singing, as the Muse inspir’d:
She next the stately bull implor'd; “Go, rose, my Chloe's bosom grace ;
And thus reply'd the mighty lord : How happy shall I prove,
“ Since every beast alive can tell Might I supply that envy'd place
That I sincerely wish you well, With never fading love!
I may, without offence, pretend There, phenix-like, beneath her eye,
To take the freedom of a friend. Involv'd in fragrance, burn and die.
Love calls me hence; a favourite cow Know, hapless flower! that thou shalt find
Expects me near yon barley-mow; More fragrant roses there!
And, when a lady's in the case, I see thy withering head reclin'd
You know, all other things give place. With envy and despair !
To leave you thus might seem unkind; One common fate we both must prove ;
goat is just behind.” You die with envy, I with love.”
The goat remark’d“ her pulse was high, Spare your comparisons,” reply'd
Her languid head, her heavy eye: An angry rose, who grew beside.
My back, says he, may do you harm; " Of all mankind you should not flout us;
The sheep's at hand, and wool is warm." What can a poet do without us?
The sheep was feeble, and complain'd In every love-song roses bloom;
“ His sides a load of wool sustain'd;" We lend you colour and perfume.
Said, he was slow, confess'd his fears; Does it to Chloe's charms couduce,
“ For hounds eat sheep as well as hares." To found her praise on our abuse ?
She now the trotting calf address'd, Must we, to flatter her, be made
To save from death a friend distress'd.
“ Shall I,” says he, “ of tender age, To wither, envy, pine, and fade ?”
In this important care engage?
Older and abler pass'd you by ; Friendship, like love, is but a name,
How strong are those ! how weak am I;
Should I presume to bear you hence, Unless to one you stint the flame. The child, whom
Those friends of mine may take offence. fathers share, many
Excuse me, then; you know my heart; Hath seldom known a father's care.
But dearest friends, alas! must part. 'Tis thus in friendships; who depend
How shall we all lament! Adieu ; On many, rarely find a friend.
For see the hounds are just in view." A hare who, in a civil way,
THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS.