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

§ 154. Fable XIX. The Lion and the Cub. HOW fond are men of rule and place,

Who court it from the mean and base!
These cannot bear an equal nigh,
But from fuperior merit fly.
They love the cellar's vulgar joke,
And lofe their hours in ale and smoke.
There o'er fome petty club prefide;
So poor, fo paltry is their pride!

Nay, ev'n with fools whole nights will fit,
In hopes to be fupreme in wit.
If these can read, to these I write,
To set their worth in trueft light.
A Lion-cub, of fordid mind,
Avoided all the lion-kind;

Fond of applaufe, he fought the feasts
Of vulgar and ignoble beasts;
With affes all his time he fpent;
Their club's perpetual prefident.
He caught their manners, looks, and airs:
An afs in ev'ry thing but ears!
If e'er his Highness meant a joke,
They grinn'd applaufe before he fpoke;
But at each word what fhouts of praife!
Good Gods! how natural he brays!

Elate with flatt'ry and conceit,
He feeks his royal fire's retreat;
Forward, and fond to fhew his parts,
His Highness brays; the Lion ftarts:
Puppy, that curs'd vociferation
Betrays thy life and converfation:
Coxcombs, an ever-noify race,
Are trumpets of their own difgrace.
Why fo fevere the Cub replies;
Our fenate always held me wife.

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

5155. Fable XX. The Old Hen and the Cock.

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

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

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

I fee you vig'rous, ftrong, and bold;
I hear with joy your triumphs told.
'Tis not from Cocks thy fate I dread;
But let thy ever-wary tread
Avoid yon well; the fatal place
Is fure perdition to our race.
Print this my counsel on thy breaft;
To the juft gods I leave the reft.

He thank'd her care; yet day by day
His bofom burn'd to disobey;
And ev'ry time the well he faw,
Scorn'd in his heart the foolish law:
Near and more near each day he drew,
And long'd to try the dang'rous view.

Why was this idle charge? he cries; Let courage female fears defpife; Or did the doubt my heart was brave, And therefore this injunction gave? Or does her harveft ftore the place, A treasure for her younger race? And would the thus my fearch prevent? I ftand refolv'd, and dare th'event.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

G 3

"Smuggler,"

"Smuggler," fays he, "thou shalt be made "A victim to our lofs of trade."

The captive Cat, with piteous mews,
For pardon, life, and freedom fues.
A fifter of the science spare;

• One int'reft is our common care.'

"What infolence!" the man reply'd; "Shall Cats with us the game divide? "Were all your interloping band "Extinguifh'd, or expell'd the land, "We Rat-catchers might raife our fees, "Sole guardians of a nation's cheese !" A Cat who faw the lifted knife, Thus fpoke, and fav'd her fifter's life: In ev'ry age and clime, we fee Two of a trade can ne'er agree. Each hates his neighbour for encroaching; 'Squire ftigmatifes 'fquire for poaching; Beauties with beauties are in arms,

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§ 157. Fable XXII. The Goat without a Beard. TIS certain, that the modifh paffions

Defcend among the crowd, like fashions. Excufe me then, if pride, conceit (The manners of the fair and great) I give to monkies, asses, bogs, Fleas, owls, goats, butterflies, and dogs. I fay that thefe are proud: what then? I never faid they equal men.

A Goat (as vain as Goat can be)
Affected fingularity.

Whene'er a thymy bank he found,
He roll'd upon the fragrant ground;
And then with fond attention ftood,
Fix'd o'er his image in the flood.

"I hate my frowzy beard," he cries; "My youth is loft in this difguife. "Did not the females know my vigour, "Well might they loath this rev'rend figure." Refolv'd to fmooth his fhaggy face, He fought the barber of the place. A flippant monkey, fpruce and finart, Hard by, profefe'd the dapper art; His pole with pewter bafons hung; Black rotten teeth in order ftrung; Rang'd cups that in the window ftood, Lin'd with red rags, to look like blood, Did well hi, threefold trade explain;

Who fhav'd, drew teeth, and breath'd a vein.
The goat he welcomes with an air,
And feats him in his wooden chair:
Mouth, nofe, and cheek, the lather hides:
Light, fmooth, and fwift, the razor glides.
I hope your cuftom, Sir,' favs pug;
Sure never face was half fo finug.?

The Goat, impatient for applause, Swift to the neighb'ring hill withdraws; The fhaggy people grinn'd and star'd:

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Heighday! what's here without a beard!' Say, brother, whence the dire difgrace? What envious hand hath robb'd your face?' When thus the fop, with fmiles of scorn, "Are beards by civil nations worn? E'en Muscovites have mow'd their chins. Shall we, like forinal Capuchins, Stubborn in pride, retain the mode, And bear about the hairy load! Whene'er we thro' the village ftray, Are we not mock'd along the way; Infulted with loud fhouts of fcorn, By boys our beards difgrac'd and torn?" Were you no more with Goats to dwell, Brother, I grant you reafon well, Replies a bearded chief. Befide, If boys can mortify thý pride, How wilt thou ftand the ridicule Of our whole flock Affected fool! Coxcombs, distinguish'd from the rest, To all but coxcombs are a jeft.'

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$158. Fable XXIII. The Old Woman and her Cats,
WHO friendship with a knave hath made,
Is judg'd a partner in the trade.
The matron who conducts abroad
A willing nymph, is thought a bawd;
And if a modeft girl is seen
With one who cures a lover's fpleen,
We guess her not extremely nice,
And only wish to know her price.
"Tis thus that on the choice of friends
Our good or evil name depends.

A wrinkl'd Hag, of wicked fame,
Befide a little finoky flame,

Sat hov'ring, pinch'd with age and froft:
Her fhrivel'd hands, with veins emboss'd,
Upon her knees her weight fuftains,
While palfy thook her crazy brains :
She mumbles forth her hackward pray?rs,
An. untam'd fcold of fourfcore years.
About her fwarm'd a num'rous brood
Of Cats, who lank with hunger mew'd.

Teaz'd with their cries, her choler grew;
And thus the sputter'd: Hence ye crew.
Fool that I was, to entertain

Such imps, fuch fiends, a hellish train;
Had ye been never hous'd and nurs'd,
I for a witch had ne'er been curs'd.
To you I owe that crowds of boys
Worry me with eternal noife;

Straws laid acrofs, my pace retard;+
The horfe-fhoe's nail'd (cach threshold's guard)
The ftunted broom the wenches hide,
For fear that I fhould up and ride;
They stick with pins my bleeding feat,
And bid me fhow my fecret teat.'

"To hear you prate would vex a faint ; Who hath moft reafon of complaint?"

+See 336

Replie

Replies a Cat. "Let's come to proof:
Had we ne'er ftarv'd beneath your roof,
We had, like others of our race,
In credit liv'd, as beafts of chace.
'Tis infamy to ferve a hag;

Cats are thought imps, her broom a nag;
And boys against our lives combine,
Becaufe 'tis faid, your cats have nine."

Good Gods! 'tis like a rolling river,
That murm'ring flows, and flows for ever!
Ne'er tir'd, perpetual difcord fowing!
Like fame, it gathers ftrength by going."
Heighday!' the flippant tongue replies,
'How folemn is the fool, how wife!
Is nature's choiceft gift debarr'd?
Nay, frown not, for I will be heard.
Women of late are finely ridden;

$159. Fable XXIV. The Butterfly and Snail. A Parrot's privilege forbidden!

ALL upftarts infolent in place,

Remind us of their vulgar race.
As, in the funfhine of the morn,
A Butterfly (but newly born)
Sat proudly perking on a rofe,
With pert conceit his bofom glows;
His wings (all glorious to behold)
Bedropt with azure, jet, and gold,
Wide he difplays; the fpangled dew
Reflects his eyes, and various hue.

His now-forgotten friend, a Snail,
Beneath his houfe, with flimy trail,
Crawls o'er the grass; whom, when he spies,
In wrath he to the gard'ner cries,

"What means yon peafant's daily toil,
From choaking weeds to rid the foil?
Why wake you to the morning's care?
Why with new arts correct the year?
Why glows the peach with crimson hue ?
And why the plumb's inviting blue?
Were they to feaft his tafte defign'd,
That vermin of voracious kind?
Crufh then the flow, the pilf'ring race;
So purge thy garden from difgrace."

What arrogance!' the Snail reply'd;
How infolent is upftart pride!
Had'st thou not thus, with infult vain,
Provok'd my patience to complain,
I had conceal'd thy meaner birth,
Nor trac'd thee to the fcum of earth.
For scarce nine funs have wak'd the hours,
To fwell the fruit and paint the flow'rs,
Since I thy humbler life furvey'd,
In bafe and fordid guife array'd;
A hideous infect, vile, unclean,
You dragg'd a flow and noifome train;
And from your fpider-bowels drew
Foul film, and spun the dirty clue.
I own my humble life, good friend;
Snail was I born, and Snail shall end.
And what's a Butterfly? At beft
He's but a catterpillar drest;
And all thy race (a num'rous feed)
Shall prove of caterpillar breed.'

§ 160. Fable XXV. The Scold and the Parrot.

THE hufband thus reprov'd his wife:

"Who deals in flander lives in ftrife.
Art thou the herald of difgrace,
Denouncing war to all thy race?
Can nothing quell thy thunder's rage,
Which fpares no friend, nor fex, nor age?
That vixen tongue of your's, my dear,
Alarms our neighbours far and near.

You praife his talk, his fqualling fong;
But wives are always in the wrong!'
Now reputations flew in pieces,

Of mothers, daughters, aunts, and nieces:
She ran the Parrot's language o'er,
Bawd, huffy, drunkard, flattern, whore;
On all the fex fhe vents her fury;
Tries and condemns without a jury.

At once the torrent of her words Alarm'd cat, monkey, dogs, and birds; All join their forces to confound her; Pufs fpits, the monkey chatters round her; The yelping cur her heels affaults; The magpye blabs out all her faults; Poll, in the uproar, from his cage, With this rebuke out-fcream'd her rage: A Parrot is for talking priz'd, But prattling women are defpis'd. She who attacks another's honour Draws ev'ry living thing upon her. Think, Madam, when you ftretch your lungs, That all your neighbours too have tongues; One flander muft ten thousand get The world with int'reft pays the debt.

$161. Fable XXVI. The Cur and the Maftiff. SNEAKING Cur, the master's ipy, Rewarded for his daily lye,

A

With fecret jealoufies and fears
Set all together by the cars.
Poor Pufs to-day was in difgrace;
Another cat fupply'd her place;
The Hound was beat, the Maftiff chid,
The Monkey was the room forbid;
Each to his dearest friend grew fhy,
And none could tell the reafon why.

A plan to rob the house was laid;
The thief with love feduc'd the maid;
Cajol'd the Cur, and strok'd his head,
And bought his fecrecy with bread.
He next the Mastiff's honour try'd;
Whose honeft jaws the bribe defy'd.
He ftretch'd his hand to proffer more;
The furly dog his fingers tore.

Swift ran the Cur; with indignation
The mafter took his information.
Hang him, the villain's curs'd, he cries;
And round his neck the halter ties.

The Dog his humble fuit prefer'd,
And begg'd in justice to be heard.
The mafter fat. On either hand
The cited Dogs confronting ftand;
The Cur the bloody tale relates,
And, like a lawyer, aggravates.

G G4

Judge

Judge not unheard, the Mastiff cry'd, But weigh the caufe of either fide. Think not that treach'ry can be just ; Take not informers words on trust; They ope their hand to ev'ry pay, And you and me by turns betray.

He fpoke. And all the truth appear'd: The Cur was hang'd, the Mastiff clear'd.

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

Is

there a bard whom genius fires,

Whofe ev'ry thought the God inspires ?
When Envy reads the nervous lines,
She frets, the rails, the raves, the pines;
Her biffing fnakes with venom fwell;
She calls her venal train from hell:
The fervile fiends her nod obey,
And all Curl's authors are in pay.

162. Fable XXVII. The Sick Man and the Fame calls up calumny and fpite;

Angel.

IS there no hope? the Sick Man faid.

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

When thus the Man, with gafping breath:
I feel the chilling wound of death:
Since I muft bid the world adicu,
Let me my former life review.

I grant, my bargains well were made,
But all men over-reach in trade;
'Tis felf-defence in each profeffion :
Sure, felf-defence is no tranfgreffion.
The little portion in my hands,
By good fecurity on lands,
Is well increas'd. If, unawares,
My juftice to myself and heirs
Hth let my debtor rot in jail,
For want of good fufficient bail;
If I by writ, or bond, or deed,
Reduc'd a fermiy to need,

My will hath made the world amends;
My hope on charity depends.
When I am number'd with the dead,
And all my pious gifts are read,

By heav'n and earth 'twill then be known,
My charities were amply fhown.

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

That fum and more are in my will.

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

Thus fhadow owes its birth to light.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A

FOX in life's extreme decay, Weak, fick, and faint, expiring lay; All appetite had left his maw,

And age difarm'd his mumbling jaw. His num'rous race around him ftand, To learn their dying fire's command: He rais'd his head with whining moan, And thus was heard the feeble tone:

Ah, fons! from evil ways depart; My crimes lie heavy on my heart. See, fee, the murder'd geefe appear! Why are thote bleeding turkies there? Why all around this cackling train, Who haunt my ears for chickens flain?

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

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

O glu

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

Nay, then, replies the feeble Fox,
(But hark! I hear a hen that clocks)
Go, but be mod'rate in your food;
A chicken too might do me good.

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

THE ranging Dog the ftubble trics,

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

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

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

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

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

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

§ 166. Fable XXXI. The Universal Apparition.

A

RAKE, by ev'ry paffion rul'd,

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

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

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

My name, perhaps, hath reach'd your ear; Attend, and be advis'd by Care.

Nor love, nor honour, wealth, nor pow'r,
Can give the heart a cheerful hour
When health is loft. Be timely wife:
With health all tafte of pleasure flies.

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

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

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

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

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