The Moral.Some Fops that visitFranceandRome,Before they know what's done at home,Look like our Carp when come again.Strange Countries may improve a Man,That knew the World before he went;But he, that sets out ignorant,Whom only Vanity intices,Brings Nothing from 'em, but their Vices.
The Moral.
Some Fops that visitFranceandRome,Before they know what's done at home,Look like our Carp when come again.Strange Countries may improve a Man,That knew the World before he went;But he, that sets out ignorant,Whom only Vanity intices,Brings Nothing from 'em, but their Vices.
The Bird ofJove, who was all Day,As much intent upon his Prey,As any Prince in Christendom,Was not well pleased, that coming home,He always found his Folks a Bed,(Sure Courtiers should be better bred.)For, as Crown'd Heads have much to think,Some Nights he could not sleep a wink;And thought it hard to have ne'er a BirdIn all his Court could speak a Word,Or snuff a Candle, hundred things,That are of use to waking Kings.Some Birds strove hard, did what they could;Yet when 't grew dark, slept as they stood.Others pretended that they watch'd,And swore and ly'd till they were catch'd.The King would not be put upon:Asks all his Court what's to be done?One talks no wiser than a Horse,Another makes it ten times worse,The Ostrich said, It's plain to me,We sleep because we cannot see;AskJupiter, he can't deny't,To let it when 'tis dark be light——At that all stopt his Speech a laughing,Except the King, who fell a coughing.Says one more learned than the rest,I'm for a Crane with stone in Fist;If he should sleep it must be known,For presently he'll drop the stone.But as the Watchmen were to beIn the upper Garret of the Tree,The King for weighty Reasons said,He'd have no Stones held o'er his Head,Then cries the Swan, and he was right,If one pretends to watch all Night.He cannot do a better thing,To make us believe it than to sing.His Majesty approves of it,And Letters presently are writ;By which the Airy Prince invitesAll Birds to Court, that sung a Nights;But most of 'em look on the sameAs things of no concern to them.Yet some that had AmbitionWould very willingly have gone,But since they could not watch in short,And might perhaps be punish'd for't,At best they could propose no Gains.But t' have their Labour for their Pains.Only the Nightingale, whose ArtMan knows, had fill'd his little HeartWith so much Joy, he's more than glad,And almost ready to run mad;Calls on all Birds and shakes his Wings,Tells them how every Night he sings;(A thing, which they knew nothing of,For by that time they're fast enough.)Says he it hits so luckily,As if it was contriv'd for me,What cause to doubt of being chose,When there's not one that can oppose.His Friend the Black-bird says, if so,}Make haste to Court; why don't you go?}The haughty Bird cries truly No,}Glory's a thing I never went for,Nor shall go now unless I am sent for.At last the King by Mistress Fame,'S acquainted with his Skill and Name,And hearing of his StatelinessSends half a dozen Deputies;Who, when they're come, are forced to wait:The Bird makes every thing look great;He humbly thanks his Majesty;But could not leave his Family.They still persuade and press him hard,He need not doubt of a great Reward.And as the Nightingale delays,And banters 'em for several Days;A Magpye in the Field at playHeard how he made the Courtiers stay,Goes home and there relates the Story,The Message, and the Bird's Vain glory,T' an Owl, who from his InfancyHad liv'd in the same Family;And adds, why don't you take a Flight?I've often heard you sing at Night;When wak'd by our unlucky Boys.Says the Owl, I know I have no VoiceAs well as you: But if you hear me,Young Jackanaps you need not jeer me.ByGeorge, says Mag, I'm not in jest,What though the Nightingale sings best,He is so proud, takes so much state,A thing I know all Princes hate,That if y'are there before the other,Who wants such Courtship, keeps such pother,I don't know but your solemn Face,And modest Mein may get the place.I'll go my self for Company:}And Mag discoursed so winingly,}The Match is made away they fly.}The King by this time thought it longTo stay for a Nocturnal SongWhen Master Magpy, and his Friend,Were just come to their Journy's end.They told their Business modestly,And are lodg'd on the Royal Tree.The Owl sets up his Note at Night,At which the Eagle laugh'd out right,Then went to sleep and two Hours afterHe wak'd, and wanted to make Water.Call'd to his Watch, who presentlyJump'd in, and cry'd Sir, Here am I.So, tho his Owlship could not sing,His watchfulness had pleas'd the King.Next day arrives the Nightingale,With his Attendance at his Tail.His Majesty would by no Means}Admit him to an Audience;}But sends a stately Bird of Sence,}Who thus accosted him. Signior,Whom we so long have waited for;Since Yesterday a Bird came hither,As grave as ever wore a Feather,Who without promise of RewardLast Night has serv'd upon the Guard,With him to Morrow Night the KingHas order'd you to watch and sing,Says Nightingale, what do I careFor Orders? I am free, and swearMy Master-lays shall mix with none,They make a Consort of their own:But who has so much vanity,That dares pretend to sing with me?And hearing twas th'AthenianBird,He star'd and cou'd not speak a Word,Grew pale, and swell'd, his Wind came short,And Anger overwhelm'd his Heart.He foams at Mouth, and raves, and blusters,And utters all his Words in Clusters.A King! a Devil, stupid Fowl,That can compare me to an Owl!Pray says the Courtier, have a Care,Consider in what place you are;But, as the Fool would hear no Reason,He went, and left him sputt'ring Treason,Then told what happen'd to the King,Who said he'd never hear him sing;The Owl should be kept in his Place,And th' other punish'd with Disgrace;He wisely weigh'd one's ComplaisanceAgainst the other's Insolence,Oppos'd the Humble to the Rude,And thought the one might do more Good,With Loyalty and Diligence,Than th' other with his Skill and Sence.The Nightingale is kick'd from CourtAnd serv'd the little Birds for sport;Till full of Shame and Grief he went,And curs'd the King and Government.
The Bird ofJove, who was all Day,As much intent upon his Prey,As any Prince in Christendom,Was not well pleased, that coming home,He always found his Folks a Bed,(Sure Courtiers should be better bred.)For, as Crown'd Heads have much to think,Some Nights he could not sleep a wink;And thought it hard to have ne'er a BirdIn all his Court could speak a Word,Or snuff a Candle, hundred things,That are of use to waking Kings.Some Birds strove hard, did what they could;Yet when 't grew dark, slept as they stood.Others pretended that they watch'd,And swore and ly'd till they were catch'd.The King would not be put upon:Asks all his Court what's to be done?One talks no wiser than a Horse,Another makes it ten times worse,The Ostrich said, It's plain to me,We sleep because we cannot see;AskJupiter, he can't deny't,To let it when 'tis dark be light——At that all stopt his Speech a laughing,Except the King, who fell a coughing.Says one more learned than the rest,I'm for a Crane with stone in Fist;If he should sleep it must be known,For presently he'll drop the stone.But as the Watchmen were to beIn the upper Garret of the Tree,The King for weighty Reasons said,He'd have no Stones held o'er his Head,Then cries the Swan, and he was right,If one pretends to watch all Night.He cannot do a better thing,To make us believe it than to sing.His Majesty approves of it,And Letters presently are writ;By which the Airy Prince invitesAll Birds to Court, that sung a Nights;But most of 'em look on the sameAs things of no concern to them.Yet some that had AmbitionWould very willingly have gone,But since they could not watch in short,And might perhaps be punish'd for't,At best they could propose no Gains.But t' have their Labour for their Pains.Only the Nightingale, whose ArtMan knows, had fill'd his little HeartWith so much Joy, he's more than glad,And almost ready to run mad;Calls on all Birds and shakes his Wings,Tells them how every Night he sings;(A thing, which they knew nothing of,For by that time they're fast enough.)Says he it hits so luckily,As if it was contriv'd for me,What cause to doubt of being chose,When there's not one that can oppose.His Friend the Black-bird says, if so,}Make haste to Court; why don't you go?}The haughty Bird cries truly No,}Glory's a thing I never went for,Nor shall go now unless I am sent for.At last the King by Mistress Fame,'S acquainted with his Skill and Name,And hearing of his StatelinessSends half a dozen Deputies;Who, when they're come, are forced to wait:The Bird makes every thing look great;He humbly thanks his Majesty;But could not leave his Family.They still persuade and press him hard,He need not doubt of a great Reward.And as the Nightingale delays,And banters 'em for several Days;A Magpye in the Field at playHeard how he made the Courtiers stay,Goes home and there relates the Story,The Message, and the Bird's Vain glory,T' an Owl, who from his InfancyHad liv'd in the same Family;And adds, why don't you take a Flight?I've often heard you sing at Night;When wak'd by our unlucky Boys.Says the Owl, I know I have no VoiceAs well as you: But if you hear me,Young Jackanaps you need not jeer me.ByGeorge, says Mag, I'm not in jest,What though the Nightingale sings best,He is so proud, takes so much state,A thing I know all Princes hate,That if y'are there before the other,Who wants such Courtship, keeps such pother,I don't know but your solemn Face,And modest Mein may get the place.I'll go my self for Company:}And Mag discoursed so winingly,}The Match is made away they fly.}The King by this time thought it longTo stay for a Nocturnal SongWhen Master Magpy, and his Friend,Were just come to their Journy's end.They told their Business modestly,And are lodg'd on the Royal Tree.The Owl sets up his Note at Night,At which the Eagle laugh'd out right,Then went to sleep and two Hours afterHe wak'd, and wanted to make Water.Call'd to his Watch, who presentlyJump'd in, and cry'd Sir, Here am I.So, tho his Owlship could not sing,His watchfulness had pleas'd the King.Next day arrives the Nightingale,With his Attendance at his Tail.His Majesty would by no Means}Admit him to an Audience;}But sends a stately Bird of Sence,}Who thus accosted him. Signior,Whom we so long have waited for;Since Yesterday a Bird came hither,As grave as ever wore a Feather,Who without promise of RewardLast Night has serv'd upon the Guard,With him to Morrow Night the KingHas order'd you to watch and sing,Says Nightingale, what do I careFor Orders? I am free, and swearMy Master-lays shall mix with none,They make a Consort of their own:But who has so much vanity,That dares pretend to sing with me?And hearing twas th'AthenianBird,He star'd and cou'd not speak a Word,Grew pale, and swell'd, his Wind came short,And Anger overwhelm'd his Heart.He foams at Mouth, and raves, and blusters,And utters all his Words in Clusters.A King! a Devil, stupid Fowl,That can compare me to an Owl!Pray says the Courtier, have a Care,Consider in what place you are;But, as the Fool would hear no Reason,He went, and left him sputt'ring Treason,Then told what happen'd to the King,Who said he'd never hear him sing;The Owl should be kept in his Place,And th' other punish'd with Disgrace;He wisely weigh'd one's ComplaisanceAgainst the other's Insolence,Oppos'd the Humble to the Rude,And thought the one might do more Good,With Loyalty and Diligence,Than th' other with his Skill and Sence.The Nightingale is kick'd from CourtAnd serv'd the little Birds for sport;Till full of Shame and Grief he went,And curs'd the King and Government.
The Moral.Princes can never satisfyThat Worth that rates itself too high.What Pity it is! some Men of PartsShould have such haughty stubborn Hearts:When once they are courted they grow vain:Ambitious Souls cannot containTheir Joy, which when they strive to hide,They cover it with so much Pride,So Saucy to Superiors,Impatient of Competitors,Th' are utterly untractable,And put off like our Nightingale.Many with him might have been great,Promoted Friends, and serv'd the State,That have beheld, with too much Joy,The wish'd for Opportunity;Then slipt it by their own Delays,Sloth, Pride, or other willful Ways,And ever after strove in vainTo see the Forelock once again.
The Moral.
Princes can never satisfyThat Worth that rates itself too high.What Pity it is! some Men of PartsShould have such haughty stubborn Hearts:When once they are courted they grow vain:Ambitious Souls cannot containTheir Joy, which when they strive to hide,They cover it with so much Pride,So Saucy to Superiors,Impatient of Competitors,Th' are utterly untractable,And put off like our Nightingale.Many with him might have been great,Promoted Friends, and serv'd the State,That have beheld, with too much Joy,The wish'd for Opportunity;Then slipt it by their own Delays,Sloth, Pride, or other willful Ways,And ever after strove in vainTo see the Forelock once again.
A Cat, whose Sirname pretty hard was,One CaptainFelis RodilardusHad made so terrible a slaughterAmong the Rats; that little afterThere's hardly one to shew his head,Most part of 'em were maim'd or dead.The few that yet had 'scap'd the Grave,Liv'd in a subterranean Cave,Where they sat thinking mighty dull,With Bellies less than quarter full,Not daring to stir out for fearOfRodilard, who's ev'ry where.They tried a hundred ways to sun him:But finding they could never shun him,The Wretches look upon him, thatHe's more a Devil than a Cat.Once, when our am'rous Spark was goneA hunting Wenches up and down,The poor remainder to improveThe time their Enemy made love,Assembl'd, and employ'd their CaresAbout the straits of their Affairs.Their President, a Man of Sence,Told 'em, by long experience;I know, the Captain used to comeIn Ambush without beat of Drum.Methinks, that if we could but hear himWe need not half so much to fear him:And therefore, th' only way's to takeA Bell, and tie't about his Neck;And then let him be ne'er so archHe'll advertise us of his march.His Council took, and every one}Was of the same Opinion;}Sure nothing better could be done.}But pray, says one, who is to tie it;For I desire not to be nigh it.How! cries another, tie the Bell,I dare draw all his Teeth as well.A third, a fourth, all say the same,And so they parted as they came.
A Cat, whose Sirname pretty hard was,One CaptainFelis RodilardusHad made so terrible a slaughterAmong the Rats; that little afterThere's hardly one to shew his head,Most part of 'em were maim'd or dead.The few that yet had 'scap'd the Grave,Liv'd in a subterranean Cave,Where they sat thinking mighty dull,With Bellies less than quarter full,Not daring to stir out for fearOfRodilard, who's ev'ry where.They tried a hundred ways to sun him:But finding they could never shun him,The Wretches look upon him, thatHe's more a Devil than a Cat.Once, when our am'rous Spark was goneA hunting Wenches up and down,The poor remainder to improveThe time their Enemy made love,Assembl'd, and employ'd their CaresAbout the straits of their Affairs.Their President, a Man of Sence,Told 'em, by long experience;I know, the Captain used to comeIn Ambush without beat of Drum.Methinks, that if we could but hear himWe need not half so much to fear him:And therefore, th' only way's to takeA Bell, and tie't about his Neck;And then let him be ne'er so archHe'll advertise us of his march.His Council took, and every one}Was of the same Opinion;}Sure nothing better could be done.}But pray, says one, who is to tie it;For I desire not to be nigh it.How! cries another, tie the Bell,I dare draw all his Teeth as well.A third, a fourth, all say the same,And so they parted as they came.
The Moral.Thus Cits advise what's to be done,This way they should attack the Town;Now here, then there, why don't they come?So, often in a Coffee-room,Where prudently they rule the Nation,I've heard some Men of ReputationPropose things which they dare as wellPerform, as Rats to tie the Bell.
The Moral.
Thus Cits advise what's to be done,This way they should attack the Town;Now here, then there, why don't they come?So, often in a Coffee-room,Where prudently they rule the Nation,I've heard some Men of ReputationPropose things which they dare as wellPerform, as Rats to tie the Bell.
A Purblind Bat a heedless BeastRan headlong into a Weasel's Nest,Who big with Child, and Passionate,Had long since bore a mortal hateTo Mice; she rises, takes a Knife,Runs to 'm resolv'd to have his Life,And says: What Rascal in my House!O impudence! a'nt you a Mouse?Confess: Yes, I am sure you are,Or I'm no Weasel: Have a Care,No Names, good Lady, says the Bat,No more a Mouse, than you a Rat.What, I a Mouse? I scorn the Word;And thank the Gods that made m' a Bird;Witness my Wings, they're proof enough;Long live the Birds, and so came off.Some two Days after giddy brainBy a mischance, intrudes againT' another Weasel's, who hates Birds,She lets him enter, made no Words;But fairly caught him by his Crupper,And went to cranch him for her Supper.In quality of Bird, says he,Madam, this is an Injury,Damn all the Birds, I do ProtestYou wrong me: Sure y'are but in jest,What reason I should pass for one?All Birds have Feathers, I have none.I am a Mouse long live the Rats,AndJupiterconfound the Cats.
A Purblind Bat a heedless BeastRan headlong into a Weasel's Nest,Who big with Child, and Passionate,Had long since bore a mortal hateTo Mice; she rises, takes a Knife,Runs to 'm resolv'd to have his Life,And says: What Rascal in my House!O impudence! a'nt you a Mouse?Confess: Yes, I am sure you are,Or I'm no Weasel: Have a Care,No Names, good Lady, says the Bat,No more a Mouse, than you a Rat.What, I a Mouse? I scorn the Word;And thank the Gods that made m' a Bird;Witness my Wings, they're proof enough;Long live the Birds, and so came off.Some two Days after giddy brainBy a mischance, intrudes againT' another Weasel's, who hates Birds,She lets him enter, made no Words;But fairly caught him by his Crupper,And went to cranch him for her Supper.In quality of Bird, says he,Madam, this is an Injury,Damn all the Birds, I do ProtestYou wrong me: Sure y'are but in jest,What reason I should pass for one?All Birds have Feathers, I have none.I am a Mouse long live the Rats,AndJupiterconfound the Cats.
The Moral.The Trimmer that will side with none,Is forc'd to side with ev'ry one;And with his Comp'ny change his story,Long live the Whig, long live the Tory.
The Moral.
The Trimmer that will side with none,Is forc'd to side with ev'ry one;And with his Comp'ny change his story,Long live the Whig, long live the Tory.
A Bitch, who hardly had a dayTo reckon, knew not where to layHer Burthen down: She had no Bed;Nor any Roof to hide her Head;Desires a Bitch of the same Pack,To let her have, for Heaven's sake,Her House against her Lying-in.Th' other, who thought it was a Sin,To baulk a Wretch so near her Labour,Says, Yes, 'tis at your Service, Neighbour.She stays the Month out, and above,And then desires her to remove:But th' other tells her, there's yet noneOf all my Whelps can walk alone,Have patience but one Fortnight longer.I hope by that time they'll be stronger.She grants it, and when that's about,Again she asks her to turn out;Resign her Chamber, and her Bed:The other shew'd her Teeth, and said,My Children now are strong enough,Some of 'em able to stand buff.W' are free to go, but don't mistake us,That is to say, if you can make us.
A Bitch, who hardly had a dayTo reckon, knew not where to layHer Burthen down: She had no Bed;Nor any Roof to hide her Head;Desires a Bitch of the same Pack,To let her have, for Heaven's sake,Her House against her Lying-in.Th' other, who thought it was a Sin,To baulk a Wretch so near her Labour,Says, Yes, 'tis at your Service, Neighbour.She stays the Month out, and above,And then desires her to remove:But th' other tells her, there's yet noneOf all my Whelps can walk alone,Have patience but one Fortnight longer.I hope by that time they'll be stronger.She grants it, and when that's about,Again she asks her to turn out;Resign her Chamber, and her Bed:The other shew'd her Teeth, and said,My Children now are strong enough,Some of 'em able to stand buff.W' are free to go, but don't mistake us,That is to say, if you can make us.
The Moral.Whoever lets the Wicked inShall hardly get them out again;What they can keep, they'll ne'er restore,And by fair Means you'll have no moreReturns from them, than from the Grave,Therefore he that will lend a Knave,Must be resolv'd on Law and Force;If not, he'll bid you take your Course.
The Moral.
Whoever lets the Wicked inShall hardly get them out again;What they can keep, they'll ne'er restore,And by fair Means you'll have no moreReturns from them, than from the Grave,Therefore he that will lend a Knave,Must be resolv'd on Law and Force;If not, he'll bid you take your Course.
The King of Brutes sent all about,He was afflicted with the Gout;And orders ev'ry SpeciesTo visit him by Embassies.To see his Subject Beasts would beSome Comfort to him in his Misery:He swears them faithfully, they shallBe lodg'd, and treated very well.Then for a Safeguard, sends forsooth,Passes against his Claw and Tooth.His Vassals in obedience come,}And ev'ry Species sends him some.}Only the Foxes stay at home;}Their Reason was, they saw the PrintOf ev'ry beastly Foot, that went:But found no Marks, by which, 'twas plain,That any e'er came back again:And truly that's suspicious,Says one, poor Folks are timerous.We know the King would not abuse us;But yet desire him to excuse us.As for his Pass we thank him for't,And believe 'tis good. But in his CourtWe know, which way we may go in,But not, which to come back again.
The King of Brutes sent all about,He was afflicted with the Gout;And orders ev'ry SpeciesTo visit him by Embassies.To see his Subject Beasts would beSome Comfort to him in his Misery:He swears them faithfully, they shallBe lodg'd, and treated very well.Then for a Safeguard, sends forsooth,Passes against his Claw and Tooth.His Vassals in obedience come,}And ev'ry Species sends him some.}Only the Foxes stay at home;}Their Reason was, they saw the PrintOf ev'ry beastly Foot, that went:But found no Marks, by which, 'twas plain,That any e'er came back again:And truly that's suspicious,Says one, poor Folks are timerous.We know the King would not abuse us;But yet desire him to excuse us.As for his Pass we thank him for't,And believe 'tis good. But in his CourtWe know, which way we may go in,But not, which to come back again.
The Moral.Wise Men sometimes Instruction findIn that, which others never mind;Examining the least of things,By Deeds, not Words, they judge of Kings;And never venture on that Coast,Where once they knew another lost.
The Moral.
Wise Men sometimes Instruction findIn that, which others never mind;Examining the least of things,By Deeds, not Words, they judge of Kings;And never venture on that Coast,Where once they knew another lost.
A Satyr at his Country House,A dismal Cave, was with his Spouse,And Brats a going to eat some Broth:Without a Chair, or Table-Cloath,On mossy ground they squatted down,With special Stomachs of their own.And just as they fell to a main,Comes one to shelter for the Rain:The Guest's invited to sit down,Tho' in the mean time they went on.He shiver'd, look'd as cold as Death,And warm'd his Fingers with his Breath,Says ne'er a Word, takes good Advice,And stays not till they ask him twice,Falls to the Porridge, takes a sup;But being newly taken up,'Twas hot, he blows it. Says the Satyr,Whose Palate could bear scalding-water,Friend, what the Devil are you a doing?What do you mean by all this blowing?The Stranger answers, I did blowAt first to warm my hands, and nowI blow again to cool my Broth.How, says my Landlord, does it both!Than y'are not like to stay with me,I hate such juggling Company.What! Out of the same Mouth to blowBoth hot and cold! Friend, prithee go.I thank the Gods my Roof containsNone such as you. The Fable means.
A Satyr at his Country House,A dismal Cave, was with his Spouse,And Brats a going to eat some Broth:Without a Chair, or Table-Cloath,On mossy ground they squatted down,With special Stomachs of their own.And just as they fell to a main,Comes one to shelter for the Rain:The Guest's invited to sit down,Tho' in the mean time they went on.He shiver'd, look'd as cold as Death,And warm'd his Fingers with his Breath,Says ne'er a Word, takes good Advice,And stays not till they ask him twice,Falls to the Porridge, takes a sup;But being newly taken up,'Twas hot, he blows it. Says the Satyr,Whose Palate could bear scalding-water,Friend, what the Devil are you a doing?What do you mean by all this blowing?The Stranger answers, I did blowAt first to warm my hands, and nowI blow again to cool my Broth.How, says my Landlord, does it both!Than y'are not like to stay with me,I hate such juggling Company.What! Out of the same Mouth to blowBoth hot and cold! Friend, prithee go.I thank the Gods my Roof containsNone such as you. The Fable means.
The Moral.None are more like to do us wrong;Than those that wear a double Tongue.
The Moral.
None are more like to do us wrong;Than those that wear a double Tongue.
Before the Reign of BuxomDido,When Beasts could speak as well as I do;Lyons and we convers'd together,And marry'd among one another.Nay, why not? they have more bravery,And are of the eldest Family.One of 'em walking in a Grove,Met with a Wench, and fell in Love.Says he, dear Girl, upon my Life,Y'are handsome, and must be my Wife.Then sees her Home, and asks her Father,Th' old Gentleman would have had ratherA Son-in-Law of milder Nature,And not so terrible a Feature;He could not give her heartily,And yet 'twas dangerous to deny.Besides she lov'd a fierce Gallant,Says he, they have ask'd my Consent;If now I make a Noise about it,Who knows but they may do't without it.Therefore he us'd a StratagemWith honey-words to wheedle him.My Daughter thanks you, Sir, for the honour,Which you are pleas'd to bestow upon her.To talk of Joyntures would be rude;I know what's for my Children's good.She's wholly yours, and from this hour,Son, I resign her to your power.I only wish, because your BrideHas but a foolish tender Hide,That when you take her in your Arm,For fear your Claws might do her harm,You'd suffer somebody to pare 'em;And then your Spouse need not to fear 'em.Your Teeth indeed look fine and strong;But yet th'are somewhat sharp and long;If y'had 'em filed an Inch or two,'T would be no prejudice to you,And she'd respect you ne'er the less,Admire the softness of your kiss,And be more free with you a Bed.So senceless is a Lover's head:The Lyon yields, and stupidlyLets 'em disarm himCap-a-pe.And so the loving Son-in-Law,Remaining without Tooth or Claw,Look'd as defenceless as a TownWith all the Walls and Gates broke down,With Dogs his complaisance they pay,To whom he falls an easy Prey.
Before the Reign of BuxomDido,When Beasts could speak as well as I do;Lyons and we convers'd together,And marry'd among one another.Nay, why not? they have more bravery,And are of the eldest Family.One of 'em walking in a Grove,Met with a Wench, and fell in Love.Says he, dear Girl, upon my Life,Y'are handsome, and must be my Wife.Then sees her Home, and asks her Father,Th' old Gentleman would have had ratherA Son-in-Law of milder Nature,And not so terrible a Feature;He could not give her heartily,And yet 'twas dangerous to deny.Besides she lov'd a fierce Gallant,Says he, they have ask'd my Consent;If now I make a Noise about it,Who knows but they may do't without it.Therefore he us'd a StratagemWith honey-words to wheedle him.My Daughter thanks you, Sir, for the honour,Which you are pleas'd to bestow upon her.To talk of Joyntures would be rude;I know what's for my Children's good.She's wholly yours, and from this hour,Son, I resign her to your power.I only wish, because your BrideHas but a foolish tender Hide,That when you take her in your Arm,For fear your Claws might do her harm,You'd suffer somebody to pare 'em;And then your Spouse need not to fear 'em.Your Teeth indeed look fine and strong;But yet th'are somewhat sharp and long;If y'had 'em filed an Inch or two,'T would be no prejudice to you,And she'd respect you ne'er the less,Admire the softness of your kiss,And be more free with you a Bed.So senceless is a Lover's head:The Lyon yields, and stupidlyLets 'em disarm himCap-a-pe.And so the loving Son-in-Law,Remaining without Tooth or Claw,Look'd as defenceless as a TownWith all the Walls and Gates broke down,With Dogs his complaisance they pay,To whom he falls an easy Prey.
The Moral.Where Love his Tyrany Commences;There, farewell Prudence, farewell Sences.
The Moral.
Where Love his Tyrany Commences;There, farewell Prudence, farewell Sences.
That little Fishes may be greater,And that, the larger th' are the betterI know; but then, to let em swim,And all the while to stay for 'em;Since catching so uncertain is,I think's a foolish Business.An Angler patiently a fishingEmploy'd with looking on, and wishing,Catches at last a little CarpThat's very poor; but being sharpHe thought 'twas something to begin,Opens his pouch to put him in.But cries the Prisoner pitiouslyAlas, what would you do with me!Let me grow bigger, throw me in.Some two Year hence you'll catch m' again;I'll stay for you, for you may be sure;Then sell me to some Epicure,But now I'm such a silly Fish,A hundred would not make a Dish;And if they should, when all is done,There would be only Skin and Bone.Says the Angler I've a Mind to try you,And if y' an't fit to Stew, I'll Fry you.Leave preaching till anon, and thenDiscourse your Mattets to the Pan.
That little Fishes may be greater,And that, the larger th' are the betterI know; but then, to let em swim,And all the while to stay for 'em;Since catching so uncertain is,I think's a foolish Business.An Angler patiently a fishingEmploy'd with looking on, and wishing,Catches at last a little CarpThat's very poor; but being sharpHe thought 'twas something to begin,Opens his pouch to put him in.But cries the Prisoner pitiouslyAlas, what would you do with me!Let me grow bigger, throw me in.Some two Year hence you'll catch m' again;I'll stay for you, for you may be sure;Then sell me to some Epicure,But now I'm such a silly Fish,A hundred would not make a Dish;And if they should, when all is done,There would be only Skin and Bone.Says the Angler I've a Mind to try you,And if y' an't fit to Stew, I'll Fry you.Leave preaching till anon, and thenDiscourse your Mattets to the Pan.
The Moral.IChuseOne isfortwo May be's,One sure for TenUncertainties.
The Moral.
IChuseOne isfortwo May be's,One sure for TenUncertainties.
Between the Wolves, and Sheep, the WarsHad lasted many hundred Years.The Sheep could never feed in quiet;But Wolves disturb'd 'em at their Diet:And truly Wolf is every DayBy Mastiff hunted from his Prey.The Shepherd often cuts his Throat,And turns his Skin into a Coat.But now both Parties are for ease;And met to agree on terms of Peace.When in Debates some time was spent,On each side Hostages are sent:As such both Nations were to giveWhat's valued most, the Wolves receive,The Dogs, of which in Awe they stood;The Sheep young Wolves of noble Blood:And thus the Peace is ratify'd,With Joy proclaim'd on every side.But in short time the Whelps grew strong,The sturdy Rogues began to longFor Blood, and Mischief; watch'd a day,The Shepherds were not in the way,Then hunt the young ones from their Dames,And pick'd and cull'd the finest Lambs;Kill'd and devour'd a Multitude;The rest they carry'd to a Wood,Where with the other Wolves they joyn,Who knew before hand their design.The Dogs on publick Faith secure(And pray what ties could be more sure)Where whilst they slept, and thought no harm,Throttled before they heard th' alarm.
Between the Wolves, and Sheep, the WarsHad lasted many hundred Years.The Sheep could never feed in quiet;But Wolves disturb'd 'em at their Diet:And truly Wolf is every DayBy Mastiff hunted from his Prey.The Shepherd often cuts his Throat,And turns his Skin into a Coat.But now both Parties are for ease;And met to agree on terms of Peace.When in Debates some time was spent,On each side Hostages are sent:As such both Nations were to giveWhat's valued most, the Wolves receive,The Dogs, of which in Awe they stood;The Sheep young Wolves of noble Blood:And thus the Peace is ratify'd,With Joy proclaim'd on every side.But in short time the Whelps grew strong,The sturdy Rogues began to longFor Blood, and Mischief; watch'd a day,The Shepherds were not in the way,Then hunt the young ones from their Dames,And pick'd and cull'd the finest Lambs;Kill'd and devour'd a Multitude;The rest they carry'd to a Wood,Where with the other Wolves they joyn,Who knew before hand their design.The Dogs on publick Faith secure(And pray what ties could be more sure)Where whilst they slept, and thought no harm,Throttled before they heard th' alarm.
The Moral.Some Nations, fond of slothful Ease,Trust to deluding Enemies;And striving to avoid Expence,Will leave themselves without defence;But cunning Tyrants call 'em Friends,No longer than it serves their Ends.Against a mighty King that is,Regardless of his Promises,Proclaim an everlasting War,Observe his Motions, watch with care;And never hearken to Peace,Proffer'd by faithless Enemies.
The Moral.
Some Nations, fond of slothful Ease,Trust to deluding Enemies;And striving to avoid Expence,Will leave themselves without defence;But cunning Tyrants call 'em Friends,No longer than it serves their Ends.Against a mighty King that is,Regardless of his Promises,Proclaim an everlasting War,Observe his Motions, watch with care;And never hearken to Peace,Proffer'd by faithless Enemies.
A Troop of Wasps claims openlySome Honey Combs without a Tree.A Regiment of Bees declares,}The Honey, and the Combs, were theirs,}And let him touch the Goods that dares;}They'd shew that they were Bees, and forsooth.Then says the Wasps, we'll pluck a Crew for't,An shall not fly for Bees, we scorn it.However 'tis left to Justice Hornet,Who could with all his subtle SenceMake nothing of the Evidence;In general they depose, 'tis true,That Insects of a yellow hue,With Tails containing poysonous Stings,Long Body'd, buzzing with their Wings,And all the Signs to paint a Bee,Had been observ'd about that Tree.But this could be no proof for them;For in the Wasps they are the same,His Lordship, for his ReputationHeard a whole Ant's Nest's Information.But being no wiser than before,At last said he could do no more;And made a learned Speech to shew 'em:That this Court could say nothing to 'em:It must be try'd in Chancery.Up starts a pert well meaning Bee,And Says, an't please your Lordship; 'tisSix Months we left our Business:And heard of nothing but Vacations,And Writs of barbarous Appellations;And all this while, you know we are,My Lord, but even as we were.The Honey every Day grows worse,And greedy Lawyers drain our Purse.Under submission we've enoughOf all this formal conjuring stuff.I believe I can inform you better,Which way you may decide the matterWhat signifies our looking on,And hearing Council pro and con?Let's go to work and then you'll see,Which spoke the Truth, the Wasps or we.If they can make such Combs and fillWith Honey each sexang'lar Cell;The Cause is theirs, and we'll pay Cost;If not, I hope they'll yield it lost.Which when the Wasps refus'd to doJudge Hornet rose, and said, Oho!I smoak you, Sirs, and gave the BeesThe Suit, with Costs and Damages.
A Troop of Wasps claims openlySome Honey Combs without a Tree.A Regiment of Bees declares,}The Honey, and the Combs, were theirs,}And let him touch the Goods that dares;}They'd shew that they were Bees, and forsooth.Then says the Wasps, we'll pluck a Crew for't,An shall not fly for Bees, we scorn it.However 'tis left to Justice Hornet,Who could with all his subtle SenceMake nothing of the Evidence;In general they depose, 'tis true,That Insects of a yellow hue,With Tails containing poysonous Stings,Long Body'd, buzzing with their Wings,And all the Signs to paint a Bee,Had been observ'd about that Tree.But this could be no proof for them;For in the Wasps they are the same,His Lordship, for his ReputationHeard a whole Ant's Nest's Information.But being no wiser than before,At last said he could do no more;And made a learned Speech to shew 'em:That this Court could say nothing to 'em:It must be try'd in Chancery.Up starts a pert well meaning Bee,And Says, an't please your Lordship; 'tisSix Months we left our Business:And heard of nothing but Vacations,And Writs of barbarous Appellations;And all this while, you know we are,My Lord, but even as we were.The Honey every Day grows worse,And greedy Lawyers drain our Purse.Under submission we've enoughOf all this formal conjuring stuff.I believe I can inform you better,Which way you may decide the matterWhat signifies our looking on,And hearing Council pro and con?Let's go to work and then you'll see,Which spoke the Truth, the Wasps or we.If they can make such Combs and fillWith Honey each sexang'lar Cell;The Cause is theirs, and we'll pay Cost;If not, I hope they'll yield it lost.Which when the Wasps refus'd to doJudge Hornet rose, and said, Oho!I smoak you, Sirs, and gave the BeesThe Suit, with Costs and Damages.
The Moral.Thus would I have all Judges giveTheir Judgment. With theTurksI believe,That common Sence to end a Cause,Is worth a hundred Common Laws.They lead us such a way about,Raise new Disputes, make such a Rout.Between the Plaintiff and Defendant;That by the time they make an end on't,The Suit looks like an Oyster, whereThe Fish falls to the Lawyer's Share;And if the Cause be manag'd well,Each of the Clients gets a Shell.
The Moral.
Thus would I have all Judges giveTheir Judgment. With theTurksI believe,That common Sence to end a Cause,Is worth a hundred Common Laws.They lead us such a way about,Raise new Disputes, make such a Rout.Between the Plaintiff and Defendant;That by the time they make an end on't,The Suit looks like an Oyster, whereThe Fish falls to the Lawyer's Share;And if the Cause be manag'd well,Each of the Clients gets a Shell.
Away base Insect, that took BirthFrom th' Exhalations of the Earth.Thus spoke the Lyon to the Gnat;Who answer'd, Bully, Think ye thatI'll bear Affronts? No: And declar'dA War against him to his Beard;And told the Hector, void of fear,You'll find Sir King, how much I careFor all your Titles, Tooth and Claw,Of which great Loobies stand in awe:I'll quickly curb your haughtiness,Damn'd Brute; and hardly utter'd this,But sounds the Charge (he serv'd for allFor Trumpet and for General.)He nimbly shifts from Place to Place,And plays before the Lyon's Face;The other snaps and strikes the Air;The Gnat avoids him every where;He watch'd his time, then seiz'd his Neck,From thence he mov'd, and stung his Back,There fasten'd, made his Kingship mad,His Eyes sparkle in his Head;He foams and roars, and all what's nearTrembles, and hides itself for fear,Yet, of this general Hurrican,And dire Alarm th' OccasionIs, what one would suspect the least,So small an Atom of a Beast.With hundred rambling flights he teasesThe Brute, and leads him where he pleases;Gets up his Nostrils, laughs to seeWith how much Rage his EnemyTore his own Flesh, and all in BloodRan raving through the affrighted Wood.He still pursues, till out of BreathThe Lyon dropp'd, and bled to Death.The merry buzzing ConquerorFlies from the dismal Seat of War,And as he sounded chearfullyThe Charge, so sounds the Victory.But going to proclaim his Story,Puffed up and blinded with his Glory,He met a Cobweb in his way,And fell a silly Spider's Prey.
Away base Insect, that took BirthFrom th' Exhalations of the Earth.Thus spoke the Lyon to the Gnat;Who answer'd, Bully, Think ye thatI'll bear Affronts? No: And declar'dA War against him to his Beard;And told the Hector, void of fear,You'll find Sir King, how much I careFor all your Titles, Tooth and Claw,Of which great Loobies stand in awe:I'll quickly curb your haughtiness,Damn'd Brute; and hardly utter'd this,But sounds the Charge (he serv'd for allFor Trumpet and for General.)He nimbly shifts from Place to Place,And plays before the Lyon's Face;The other snaps and strikes the Air;The Gnat avoids him every where;He watch'd his time, then seiz'd his Neck,From thence he mov'd, and stung his Back,There fasten'd, made his Kingship mad,His Eyes sparkle in his Head;He foams and roars, and all what's nearTrembles, and hides itself for fear,Yet, of this general Hurrican,And dire Alarm th' OccasionIs, what one would suspect the least,So small an Atom of a Beast.With hundred rambling flights he teasesThe Brute, and leads him where he pleases;Gets up his Nostrils, laughs to seeWith how much Rage his EnemyTore his own Flesh, and all in BloodRan raving through the affrighted Wood.He still pursues, till out of BreathThe Lyon dropp'd, and bled to Death.The merry buzzing ConquerorFlies from the dismal Seat of War,And as he sounded chearfullyThe Charge, so sounds the Victory.But going to proclaim his Story,Puffed up and blinded with his Glory,He met a Cobweb in his way,And fell a silly Spider's Prey.
The Moral.So one that cross'd the Ocean o'er,May smother in a Common Shore.
The Moral.
So one that cross'd the Ocean o'er,May smother in a Common Shore.
In Ancient times, whenJupiterWas pretty free, a Labourer,That earn'd his Bread with cleaving Wood,Lost with his Ax his Livelyhood.'T would grieve ones Heart to hear what sadAnd pitious moan the Fellow made:He had no Tools to sell again,And buy another Ax, poor Man!It was his All, and what to do,Or how to live he does not know,And as the Tears stood in his Eyes,My Ax! O my dear Ax! he cries:Sweet lovingJupiter! restoreMy Ax.Olympushear his roar;AndMercurythe Post-Boy, orThe Flying Post (his CharacterSuits either for he's God of LyingBeardless, and fam'd for News and Flying.)Came to the Labourer, and said,Your Ax in't lost, cheer up, my Lad:I've got it here; but can you tellWhich is your own? I very well,Quoth he. SaysMercurytake hold,And gives him one of Massy Gold;To this, quoth th' other, I've no claim;To a Silver one he said the same.But when his Iron one was shewn,He cries, I Faix this is mine own;God bless you, Sir. AndMercury}Said, to reward his Honesty,}Th' are all your own, I give 'em ye.}The Story's quickly nois'd about;The way to Riches is found out:'Tis but to lose one's Ax; the Fools,That had none, sold their Cloaths and ToolsTo get one; and whate'er they cost,They're bought in order to be lost.The God of Thieves and Merchants, whoBy chance had nothing else to do,Came as they call'd; his DeityGave every one the choice of three:The lying Rogues deny'd their own,And swore they lost a Golden one:But as they stoop for't,MercuryChops off their Heads, and there they lie.
In Ancient times, whenJupiterWas pretty free, a Labourer,That earn'd his Bread with cleaving Wood,Lost with his Ax his Livelyhood.'T would grieve ones Heart to hear what sadAnd pitious moan the Fellow made:He had no Tools to sell again,And buy another Ax, poor Man!It was his All, and what to do,Or how to live he does not know,And as the Tears stood in his Eyes,My Ax! O my dear Ax! he cries:Sweet lovingJupiter! restoreMy Ax.Olympushear his roar;AndMercurythe Post-Boy, orThe Flying Post (his CharacterSuits either for he's God of LyingBeardless, and fam'd for News and Flying.)Came to the Labourer, and said,Your Ax in't lost, cheer up, my Lad:I've got it here; but can you tellWhich is your own? I very well,Quoth he. SaysMercurytake hold,And gives him one of Massy Gold;To this, quoth th' other, I've no claim;To a Silver one he said the same.But when his Iron one was shewn,He cries, I Faix this is mine own;God bless you, Sir. AndMercury}Said, to reward his Honesty,}Th' are all your own, I give 'em ye.}The Story's quickly nois'd about;The way to Riches is found out:'Tis but to lose one's Ax; the Fools,That had none, sold their Cloaths and ToolsTo get one; and whate'er they cost,They're bought in order to be lost.The God of Thieves and Merchants, whoBy chance had nothing else to do,Came as they call'd; his DeityGave every one the choice of three:The lying Rogues deny'd their own,And swore they lost a Golden one:But as they stoop for't,MercuryChops off their Heads, and there they lie.
The Moral.The Fable shews you, HonestyIs always the best Policy.
The Moral.
The Fable shews you, HonestyIs always the best Policy.