FABLE LII.Vulture, Sparrow, and Birds.EreI begin I must premiseOur ministers are good and wise:Therefore if tongues malicious fly,Or what care they, or what care I?If I am free with courts, and skittish,I ne'er presume to mean the British:I meddle with no state affairs,But spare my jest and save my ears;And our court schemes are too profoundFor Machiavel himself to sound.A captious fool may feel offended;They are by me uncomprehended.Your younger brother wants a place—(That's many a younger brother's case).You likewise tell me he intendsTo try the court and beat up friends.I trust he may a patriot find,True to his king and to mankind,And true to merit—to your brother's—And then he need not teaze us others.You praise his probity and wit:No doubt; I doubt them not a whit.Ah! may our patriot have them too;And if both clash, why things may do.For I have heard (oh, Heaven defend us!For I'll not hold it might not mend us)That ministers, high as yon steeple,Have trodden low law, king, and people,When virtue from preferment barredGets nothing save its own regard.Courtiers—a set of knaves—attend them,And arrogance well recommends them;Who flatter them defame their foesTo lull the ministerial woes:And if projectors fire a brain,South Sea or silver mines in Spain,The broker's ready in a triceTo satisfy e'en avarice.A courtier's conscience must be pliant;He must go on, nor be defiant,Through thick and thin, o'er stock and stone,Or else, bye, bye, the post is gone.Since plagues like these as storms may lower,And favourites fall as falls the flower,Good principles should not be steady,—That is, at court, but ever readyTo veer—as veers the vane—each hourAround the ministry in power:For they, you know, they must have tools;And if they can't get knaves, get fools.Ah! let me shun the public hate,And flee the guilt of guilty state.Give me, kind Heaven, a private station,A mind serene for contemplation;And if bright honour may be mine,Profit and title I resign.Now read my fable, and—in short,Go, if you will, then—go to court.In days of yore (for cautious rhymesShould aye eschew the present times)A greedy vulture, skilled in preying,Approached the throne, his wings displaying,And at the royal eagle's earBurthens of state proposed to bear.Behold him minister of state;Behold his feathered throng await;Behold them granting posts and placesConcordant with their worth and races.The nightingales were all turned out,And daws put in. "These birds, no doubt,"The vulture said, "are the most fitBoth for capacity and wit,And very docile: they will doMy business, as I wish them to.And hawk—the hawk is a good fellow—And chanticleer, with cockscomb yellow;But all the ravens—they must go—Pry in futurities, you know.That will not do; to baffle allWith truth, for the apocryphal.No; jays and pies will do far better,—They talk by rote, nor know a letter."A sparrow, on the housetop, heard—The sparrow is a knowing bird:"If rogues unto preferments rise,I ask nor place nor seignories.To the thatched cottage, I, to find,From courts afar, my peace of mind."FABLE LIII.Ape and Poultry.Esteemis frequently misplaced,Where she may even stand disgraced;We must allow to wealth and birthPrecedence, which is due on earth:But our esteem is only dueUnto the worth of man and virtue.Around an ancient pedigreeThere is a halo fair to see,With "unwrung withers" we affordOur salutation to milord,As due unto his ancient house,Albeit his lordship be a chouse.And riches dazzle us—we knowHow much they might or should bestow:But power is nothing,sansthe will,Often recalcitrant to ill:And yet the mob will stand and gazeOn each, with similar amaze.But worst of all the lot, we grant,The parasite or sycophant:Such as can vilely condescendTo dirty jobs; and bow and bend,With meanest tropes of adulation,To have and hold on to their station.E'en such a ministry amongAre found amidst the waiting throng.Where'er are misdeeds, there are bevies;And wanting never at the levees,Men who have trimmed the stocks, been rabbled,In South Seas and in gold mines dabbled,Where sycophants applauded schemesMadder than the maddest madman's dreams.When pagans sacrificed to Moloch,They gave the first-born of their low stock;But here, unless all history lies,Nations are made the sacrifice.For look through courts, and you will findThe principle that rules mankind,—Worshipped beneath the sundry shapesOf wolves, and lions, fox, and apes.Where, then, can we esteem bestow,—To-day in place, to-morrow low?And the winged insects of his powerGone—when they see the tempests lower:Like to the bubble, full and fair,With hues prismatic, puffed with air.Another puff—and down it tends—Earthward one dingy drop descends.A maiden, much misused by Time—All aspirations of her prime,Like the soap bubble, puffed and burst,—Monkeys, and dogs, and parrots nurst;A whole menagerie employedThe passing hours which she enjoyed.A monkey, big as a gorilla,Who stalked beneath a big umbrella,Was her prime minister: his fingerWas wont in each man's pie to linger.She liked the monster, and assignedThe poultry-yard to him, to findThe daily rations of the corn.Behold him now, with brow of scorn,Amidst his vassals: come for picking—Swans, turkeys, peacocks, ducks, and chicken.The minister appeared, the crowdPerformed the reverence due; and bowedAnd spoke their compliments and duties,Whilst he revolved in mind his new ties,And thought "What is a place of trust?—'And first unto thyself be just,And then it follows that you canNot be unjust to any man.'That moral motto is most true;As Shakespeare teaches, will I do."There was an applewoman's stall,With plums and nuts, beneath a wall;With her he then proposed to trade,—In corn, full payments to be made."Madam, in mind this dogma bear:'Buy in the cheap; sell in the dear;'And, since my barley costs me nothing,My market is as cheap as stuffing."Away then went the stores of grain,—The poultry died; and mistress, fainTo know the cause, named a commission—Which ended in the Pug's dismission,And left our hero in a hash,With Newgate and refunded cash.A gander met him in disgrace,Who knew him well when high in place."Two days ago," said Pug, "you bowedThe lowest of the cringing crowd.""I always bob my head beforeI pass," said Goosey, "a barn-door.I always cackle for my grain,And so do all my gosling train:But if I do not know a monkey,Whene'er I see one,—I'm a donkey."FABLE LIV.Ant in Office.Youtell me that my verse is rough,And to do mischief like enough;Bid me eschew, in honest rhymes,Follies of countries and crimes.You ask me if I ever knewCourt chaplains thus lawn sleeves pursue?I meddle not with gown or lawn;I, therefore, have no need to fawn.If they must soothe a patron's ear,Not I—I was not born to bear;All base conditions I refuse,Nor will I so debase the muse.Though I ne'er flatter nor defame,Yet would I fain bring guilt to shame;And I corruption would expose,Though all corrupted were my foes.I no man's property invade,—Corruption 's an unlawful trade;So bribery also. PoliticiansShould be tied down to such conditions;If they were stinted of their tools,Less were their train of knaves and fools.Were such the case, let us reviewThe dreadful mischiefs to ensue.Some silver services 'twould stint,But that would aggrandise the Mint;Some ministers find less regard,But bring their servants more reward;Fewer informers, fewer spies,But that would swell the year's supplies;An annual job or two might drop,We should not miss it 'midst the crop;Some pensions, haply, be refused,The Civil List be less abused;It might the ministry confound,And yet the State stand safe and sound.Next, let it well be understoodI only mean my country's good—I wish all courtiers did the same.I wish to bar no honest claim;I wish the nation out of debt;No private man had cause to fret;Yet law and public good to beThe pole-stars of the Ministry;I wish corruption, bribery, pension,Were things there were no need to mention;I wish to strike a blow at vice,—Fall where it may, I am not nice;Although the Law—the devil take it!—Canscandalum magnatummake it.I vent no scandal, neither judgeAnother's conscience; on I trudge,And with my satire take no aim,Nor knave nor steward name by name.Yet still you think my fable bearsAllusion unto State affairs.I grant it does so; but, what then?—I strike at motives, not at men.If hands corrupted harm the nation,I bar no reader's application.There was an Ant, of flippant tongue,Who oft the ears of senates wrung;Whether he knew the thing or no,Assurance sat upon his brow;Who gained the post whereto he strained—The grain-controllership attained.But then old laws were very strict,And punished actionsderelict.Accounts were passed by year and year,The auditors would then appear,And his controllership of grainMust his accounts and stock explain.He put a balance-sheet in—cooked,An honest emmet o'er it looked,And said, "The hoard of grain is low;But the accounts themselves don't showBy any vouchers what the stocks are.Really, such documents but mocks are.""Sir," the controller said, "would youHave us pass everything to view?Divulge all matters to all eyes,Proclaim to winds state mysteries?'Twould lay us open to our foes;You see all that we dare disclose;And, on my honour, the expenseIs lavished on the swarm's defence."They passed the balance-sheet—againNext year's shewed "deficit of grain;"And thus again controller pleaded:"Much secret service has been needed,For famines threaten: turkey broodsHave been most clamorous for foods.Turkey invasions have cost dear,And geese were numerous last year.Really, these secrets told are ruin,And tend much to the realm's undoing."Again, without examination,They thanked his good administration.A third and fourth time this recurred,An auditor would then be heard:"Are we but tools," he said, "of rogues?Through us corruption disemboguesHer mighty flood; for every grainWe touch we vouch at least for twain.Where have they vanished? nay, in bribes.They have depoverished our tribes."Then followed an investigation,And a report unto the nation.The Ant was punished, and his hoard—All that remained of it—restored.FABLE LV.The Bear in a Boat.(To a Coxcomb.)Ah! my dear fellow, write the mottoNosce teipsumo'er your grotto;For he must daily wiser grow,Determined his own scope to know.He never launches from the shoreWithout the compass, sail, and oar.He, ere he builds, computes the costs;And, ere he fights, reviews the hosts.He safely walks within the fence,And reason takes from common sense:Pride and presumption standing checkedBefore some palpable defect.To aid the search for pride's eviction,A coxcomb claims a high distinction.Not to one age or sex confinedAre coxcombs, but of rank and kind;Pervading all ranks, great and small,Who take and never give the wall.By ignorance is pride increased;They who assume most, know the least.Yet coxcombs do not, all alike,Our ridicule and laughter strike.For some are lovers, some are bores,Some rummage in the useless storesOf folios ranged upon the shelf,Another only loves himself.Such coxcombs are of private station:Ambition soars to rule the nation.They flattery swallow: do not fear,—No nonsense will offend their ear:Though you be sycophant professed,You will not put his soul to test.If policy should be his care,DrumMachiavelliin his ear;If commerce or the naval service,Potter of Mazarin and Jervis.Always, with due comparison,By him let all that 's done be done;Troops, levies, and ambassadors,Treaties and taxes, wars and stores;No blunders or crude schemes are tost,Each enterprise repays its cost.He is the pilot at the helmTo succour and to save the realm.Spare not your Turkey-poult to cram,He never will suspect youflam.There was a bear of manners rough,Who could take bee-hives well enough:He lived by plundered honey-comb,And raided the industrial home.Success had puffed him with conceit;He boasted daily of some feat.In arrogance right uncontrolledHe grew pragmatic, busy, bold;And beasts, with reverential stare,Thought him a most prodigious bear.He grew dictator in his mood,And seized on every spoil was good;From chickens, rising by degrees,Until he took the butcher's fees:Then, in his overweening pride,Over the hounds he would preside;And, lastly, visiting the rocks,He took his province from the fox.And so it happened on a dayA yawl equipped at anchor lay.He stopped, and thus expressed his mind:"What blundering puppies are mankind!What stupid pedantry in schools,Their compasses and nautic tools!I will assume the helm, and showVain man a dodge he ought to know."He gained the vessel, took his stand.The beasts, astonished, lined the strand;He weighed the anchor, slacked the sail,Put her about before the gale,But shipped no rudder: ill then met her;He ran ashore, and there upset her.The roach and gudgeon, native there,Gathered to quiz the floundering bear.Not so the watermen: the crewGathered around to thrash him too;And merriment ran on the strandAs Bruin, chained, was dragged to land.FABLE LVI.Squire and Cur.(To a Country Gentleman.)Man, with integrity of heart,Disdains to play a double part:He bears a moral coat of mail,When envy snarls and slanders rail.From virtue's shield the shafts resound,And his light shines in freedom round.If in his country's cause he rise,Unbribed, unawed, he will advise;Will fear no ministerial frown,Neither will clamour put him down.But if you play the politicianWith soul averse to the position,Your lips and teeth must be controlled.What minister his place could holdWere falsehood banished from the court,Or truth to princes gain resort?The minister would lose his place,If he could not his foes disgrace.For none is born a politicianWho cannot lie by intuition:By which the safety of the throneIs kept—subservient to his own.For monarchs must be kept deludedBy falsehood from the lips exuded,And, ministerial schemes pursuing,Care nothing for the public ruin.Antiochus, lost in a chase,Traversed the wood with mended pace,And reached a cottage, sore distressed.A Parthian fed the regal guest,But knew not whom: the countryman,Warmed by unwonted wine, beganTo talk of courts and talk of kings:"We country folk, we see such things.They say the king is good and wise:Ah! we could open both his eyes.They say, God bless him! he means good.Ah! we could open them—we could;—And show him how his courtiers ride us:They rob us, and they then deride us.If King Antiochus could see,Or if he knew as much as we,How servants wound a master's name,—From kings to cobblers 'tis the same,—If King Antiochus, I say,Could see, he'd kick those scamps away."Both in good time their couches sought;The peasant slept, the monarch thought.At earliest dawn the courtiers foundAnd owned the king by trumpet sound.Unto his rustic host the guest,With due reward, his thanks expressed;And turning to his courtier train:"Since you are bent on private gain,You may your private gain pursue;Henceforth I will be quit of you."A country squire, by whim directed,The nobler stocks canine neglected;Nor hound nor pointer by him bred.Yap was his cur, and Yap was fed;And Yap brought all his blood relationsTo fill the posts and eat the rations;And to that end it came aboutThat all the others were turned out.Now Yap, as curs are wont to do—If great men's curs—on tradesmen flew,Unless they bribed him: with a boundHe worried all the tenants round.For why? he lived in constant fearLest they, in hate, should interfere.So Master Yap would snarl and bite,Then clap his tail, and fly with fright;As he, with bay and bristling hair,Assailed each tradesman who came there.He deemed, if truth should get admittance,'Twould followed be by his demittance.It chanced that Yap, upon a day,Was by a kins-cur lured to play;And, as Miss Yaps there were, they thoughtUnto Miss Yaps to pay their court,And had a little hunting bouting,Like Antony, who so went outingWith Cleopatra.—So pursuing,Yap and Mark Antony found ruin.A neighbour passing by, then ventured—And, seeing the coast clear, he entered.The squire enjoyed a quiet chat,And said: "Now tell me, neighbour Mat,Why do men shun my hall? Of late,No neighbour enters in my gate;I do not choose thence to infer——""Squire, 'tis nothing but the cur,"Mat answered him; "with cursed spite,The brute does nought but bark and bite.There is some cause, we all agree:He swears 'tis us—we say 'tis he.Get rid of him, the snarling brute,And these old halls shall not be mute;There nothing is we more desire,Than lose the cur and win the squire."The truth prevailed, and with disgraceThe cur was cudgelled out of place.FABLE LVII.The Countryman and Jupiter.(To myself.)Nosce teipsum: look and spy,Have you a friend so fond as I?Have you a fault, to mankind known,Not hidden unto eyes your own?When airy castles you importune,Down falling, by the breath of Fortune,Did I e'er doubt you should inherit,If Fortune's wheel devolved on merit?It was not so; for Fortune's frownStill perseveres to hold you down.Then let us seek the cause, and viewWhat others say and others do.Have we, like those in place, resignedOur independency of mind?Have we had scruples—and thereforePractising morals, are we poor?If such be our forlorn position,Would Fortune mend the lorn condition?On wealth if happiness were built,Villains would compass it by guilt.No:crescit amor nummi—misersAre not so heartwhole as are sizars.Think, O John Gay!—and that's myself—Should Fortune make you her own elf,Would that augment your happiness?Or haply might she make it less?Suppose yourself a wealthy heirOf houses, lands, and income clear:Your luxury might break all boundsOf plate and table, steeds, and hounds.Debts—debts of honour—lust of play—Will waste a county's wealth away;And so your income clear may fail,And end in exile or in jail.Or were you raised to height of power,Would that ameliorate an hour?Would avarice and false applauseWeigh in the balance as two straws?Defrauded nations, blinded kings,Would they not, think you, leave their stings?If happiness, then, be your aim(I mean the true, not false of fame),She nor in courts nor camps resides,Nor in the lowly cottage bides;Nor on the soil, nor on the wind;She tenants only in the mind.Wearied by toil, beneath the shade,A rustic rested on his spade."This load of life, from year to year,"He said, "is very hard to bear.The dawning morning bids me upTo toil and labour till I sup!"Jove heard, and answered him: "My friend,Complaints that are unjust offend:Speak out your griefs, if you repineAt any act or deed of mine.If you can mend your state, instruct me;I wish but knowledge to conduct me."So saying, from the mundane crowdsHe raised the rustic to the clouds.He showed a miser—said: "BeholdHis bulky bags that burst with gold!He counts it over, and the storeIs every day increased by more.""O happiness!" the rustic cried:"What can a fellow wish beside?""Ah, wait! until I charm your eyes,"Said Jupiter, "from fallacies."He looked again, and saw the breastLike a rough ocean—ne'er at rest:Fear, guilt, and conscience gnawed the heart;Extortion ever made it smart—It seemed as if no sunlit gleamCould brighten it in thought or dream."Ah! may the gods," he cried, "rejectMy prayer for gold, and comfort wreckt:But see yon minister of state,And the gay crowd who proudly wait!""A second time I charm your eyes,"Said Jove, "from mortal fallacies."He looked again, and saw a breastGnawed by corruption, wanting rest:He saw him one time drunk with power,Tottering upon Ambition's tower;Then, seized with giddiness and fear,Seeing his downfall in his rear,"O Jupiter!" the rustic said,"Give me again my plough and spade."But Jupiter was not contented:The rustic's griefs he still resented.So he deployed before his sightThe lawyer's and the soldier's plight;The miseries of war and law,The battle-field and legal flaw."O Jupiter!" the rustic said,"Restore me to the plough and spade."Then Jupiter: "You mortals blunder:There is no happiness in thunder;For happiness, to nought confined,Is found in the contented mind:Go home again, and be contented,Nor grumble more like one demented."Then Jupiter, to aid the clown,Where he had found him put him down.FABLE LVIII.Man, Cat, Dog, and Fly.(To my Native Land.)Mynative land, whose fertile groundNeptune and Amphitrite bound,—Britain, of trade the chosen mart,The seat of industry and art,—May never luxury or ministerCast over thee a mantle sinister!Still let thy fleet and cannon's roarAffright thy foes and guard thy shore.When Continental States contend,Be thou to them a common friend.Imperial rule may sway their land;Here Commerce only takes her stand,Diffusing good o'er all the world.The flag of Commerce, where unfurled,Stands with fair plenty in her train,And wealth, to bless her bright domain.For where the merchant sails to tradeFair is the face of Nature made.Glad is the king, in regal dome;Glad is the rustic, in his home;The flocks and culture glad the fields,And Peace her boon of plenty yields.For Nature meant that man should shareThe goods abounding everywhere,And barter corn, and oil, and wine;The iron ore and twisted twine,Cotton and silk, deep-bedded coal,Be interchanged from pole to pole.So each land's superfluitiesShould bind lands by commercial ties;And carry, from abounding stores,The luxuries of distant shores.The monarch and the rustic eatOf the same harvest, the same wheat;The artizan supplies the vest,The mason builds the roof of rest;The self-same iron-ores affordThe coulter of the plough and sword;And all, from cottage to the throne,Their common obligation ownFor private and for public cause,Protecting property and laws.The animals were once distressedBy bitter famine, and addressedThemselves to man to find them food,And bound themselves in servitude;For, whilst they starved, or whilst they fed,Man had his lasting hoards of bread.The cat demanded leave to sue,"Well, Puss," says Man, "and what can you do?""Scatter the rats and mice," said Tib;"And guard your grain in sack or crib.Foe am I of thegenus Mus,Absurdly called 'ridiculus;'Dan Æsop called him so, not I;Feed me, and every mouse shall die."Then to the starving hound, Man said:"Well, sir, and how can you earn bread?""My name is Trusty," said the hound;"And ne'er was I untrusty found.I am not used, by self-applause,To pander to my famished jaws;But I am well known; if you pleaseTo ask my character of these.My province is to watch, and keepThe house and fold the whilst you sleep;And thief and wolf alike shall knowI am your friend, and am their foe.""Ah!" said the Man, "we rarely findTrust uncorrupted with mankind.Such services, indeed, transcend;Pray, be my comrade and my friend."Then to the drone he turned, and said:"Well, sir; can you, sir, earn your bread?""I will explain, sir, if I can;I am," said drone, "a gentleman.Mechanics earn their bread—not I:Where'er there honey is, I fly;But, truly, it would not be fitI should submit to toil for it:I visit peaches, plums, and roses,Where Beauty on a couch reposes;I seldom fail the placid hour,When she takes bohea in the bower;Nor do I gather stores of pelf—,My object is to please myself;And if I lay to aught pretence,It is to ease and elegance.""So, Mr. Drone; and have you done?Then, from that peach, I pray, begone;If you won't work, you shall not eat,—That is, with me; so quit that seat.If all the world were such as you,We all should starve when north winds blewBut he who, with industrious zeal,Contributes to the common weal,Has the true secret understoodOf private and of public good.Be off with you!" He raised his hand,Which the vain insect dared withstand;It smote the parasite of prideAnd there the idler fell, and died.FABLE LIX.The Jackall, Leopard, and Beasts.(To a Modern Politician.)I grantthese facts: corruption sways,Self-interest does pervert man's ways;That bribes do blind; that present crimesDo equal those of former times:Can I against plain facts engageTo vindicate the present age?I know that bribes in modern palmCan nobler energies encalm;That where such argument existsThere itching is in modern fists.And hence you hold that politiciansShould drive their nails on such conditions,So they might penetratesansbending,And win your way past comprehending.Premising no reflection's meant,Unto such doctrine I dissent.The barrister is bound to pleadUpon the side on which he 's fee'd;And so in every other tradeIs duty, by the guinea, paid.Man, we are taught, is prone to evil—That does not vindicate the devil:Besides, man, in his own behoof,Contrives to hide the cloven hoof.Nor is corruption of late date,—'Twas known in every age and state;And where corruption was employedThe public welfare was destroyed.Next see court minions in disgrace,Stripped of their treasure, stripped of place;What now is all their pride and boast,—The servile slave, the flattering host,The tongues that fed him with applause,The noisy champions of their cause?They press the foremost to accuseHis selfish jobs and paltry views.Ah, me! short-sighted were the fools,And false, aye false, the hireling tools.Was it such sycophants to getCorruption swelled the public debt?This motto would not shine amiss—Write, "Point d'argent et point de Suisse."The lion is the noblest brute,With parts and valour past dispute,And yet it is by all averredHis rule to jackalls is transferred.A rascal jackall once on lawAnd property put down his paw.The forest groaned brute-discontent,And swore its injuries to resent:The jackall heard it, and with fearHe saw disgrace approaching near.He said and thought: "I must defeatMalicious tongues, and guard my seat;Strengthen myself with new allies,And then this clamour may despise."Unto the generous brutes he fawned;The generous brutes the jackall scorned.What must he do? Friends must be made,And proselytes by bribes be paid;For think not a brute's paw withstandsThe bribe which dirties human hands.A hog o'er cabbage said his benison;The wolf was won by haunch of venison;A pullet won the fox; a thistleTickled the donkey's tongue of gristle.But now the royal leopard roseThe tricksy jackall to oppose:And as the rats will leave in lurchThe falling walls of house or church,So did each briber cut and runTo worship at the rising sun.The hog with warmth expressed his zeal,So did the wolf for public weal,—But claimed their venison and cabbage.The fox the like—without disparageUnto his perquisites of geese.The donkey asked a common's lease."Away," the leopard said, "ye crew,Whose conscience honesty ne'er knew!Away, I say, with all the tribeWho dare to ask or take a bribe:Cudgels, and not rewards, are dueTo such time-serving tools as you!"
EreI begin I must premiseOur ministers are good and wise:Therefore if tongues malicious fly,Or what care they, or what care I?If I am free with courts, and skittish,I ne'er presume to mean the British:I meddle with no state affairs,But spare my jest and save my ears;And our court schemes are too profoundFor Machiavel himself to sound.A captious fool may feel offended;They are by me uncomprehended.Your younger brother wants a place—(That's many a younger brother's case).You likewise tell me he intendsTo try the court and beat up friends.I trust he may a patriot find,True to his king and to mankind,And true to merit—to your brother's—And then he need not teaze us others.You praise his probity and wit:No doubt; I doubt them not a whit.Ah! may our patriot have them too;And if both clash, why things may do.For I have heard (oh, Heaven defend us!For I'll not hold it might not mend us)That ministers, high as yon steeple,Have trodden low law, king, and people,When virtue from preferment barredGets nothing save its own regard.Courtiers—a set of knaves—attend them,And arrogance well recommends them;Who flatter them defame their foesTo lull the ministerial woes:And if projectors fire a brain,South Sea or silver mines in Spain,The broker's ready in a triceTo satisfy e'en avarice.A courtier's conscience must be pliant;He must go on, nor be defiant,Through thick and thin, o'er stock and stone,Or else, bye, bye, the post is gone.Since plagues like these as storms may lower,And favourites fall as falls the flower,Good principles should not be steady,—That is, at court, but ever readyTo veer—as veers the vane—each hourAround the ministry in power:For they, you know, they must have tools;And if they can't get knaves, get fools.Ah! let me shun the public hate,And flee the guilt of guilty state.Give me, kind Heaven, a private station,A mind serene for contemplation;And if bright honour may be mine,Profit and title I resign.Now read my fable, and—in short,Go, if you will, then—go to court.In days of yore (for cautious rhymesShould aye eschew the present times)A greedy vulture, skilled in preying,Approached the throne, his wings displaying,And at the royal eagle's earBurthens of state proposed to bear.Behold him minister of state;Behold his feathered throng await;Behold them granting posts and placesConcordant with their worth and races.The nightingales were all turned out,And daws put in. "These birds, no doubt,"The vulture said, "are the most fitBoth for capacity and wit,And very docile: they will doMy business, as I wish them to.And hawk—the hawk is a good fellow—And chanticleer, with cockscomb yellow;But all the ravens—they must go—Pry in futurities, you know.That will not do; to baffle allWith truth, for the apocryphal.No; jays and pies will do far better,—They talk by rote, nor know a letter."A sparrow, on the housetop, heard—The sparrow is a knowing bird:"If rogues unto preferments rise,I ask nor place nor seignories.To the thatched cottage, I, to find,From courts afar, my peace of mind."
EreI begin I must premiseOur ministers are good and wise:Therefore if tongues malicious fly,Or what care they, or what care I?
If I am free with courts, and skittish,I ne'er presume to mean the British:I meddle with no state affairs,But spare my jest and save my ears;And our court schemes are too profoundFor Machiavel himself to sound.A captious fool may feel offended;They are by me uncomprehended.
Your younger brother wants a place—(That's many a younger brother's case).You likewise tell me he intendsTo try the court and beat up friends.I trust he may a patriot find,True to his king and to mankind,And true to merit—to your brother's—And then he need not teaze us others.
You praise his probity and wit:No doubt; I doubt them not a whit.Ah! may our patriot have them too;And if both clash, why things may do.For I have heard (oh, Heaven defend us!For I'll not hold it might not mend us)That ministers, high as yon steeple,Have trodden low law, king, and people,When virtue from preferment barredGets nothing save its own regard.Courtiers—a set of knaves—attend them,And arrogance well recommends them;Who flatter them defame their foesTo lull the ministerial woes:And if projectors fire a brain,South Sea or silver mines in Spain,The broker's ready in a triceTo satisfy e'en avarice.A courtier's conscience must be pliant;He must go on, nor be defiant,Through thick and thin, o'er stock and stone,Or else, bye, bye, the post is gone.Since plagues like these as storms may lower,And favourites fall as falls the flower,Good principles should not be steady,—That is, at court, but ever readyTo veer—as veers the vane—each hourAround the ministry in power:For they, you know, they must have tools;And if they can't get knaves, get fools.Ah! let me shun the public hate,And flee the guilt of guilty state.Give me, kind Heaven, a private station,A mind serene for contemplation;And if bright honour may be mine,Profit and title I resign.Now read my fable, and—in short,Go, if you will, then—go to court.
In days of yore (for cautious rhymesShould aye eschew the present times)A greedy vulture, skilled in preying,Approached the throne, his wings displaying,And at the royal eagle's earBurthens of state proposed to bear.Behold him minister of state;Behold his feathered throng await;Behold them granting posts and placesConcordant with their worth and races.The nightingales were all turned out,And daws put in. "These birds, no doubt,"The vulture said, "are the most fitBoth for capacity and wit,And very docile: they will doMy business, as I wish them to.And hawk—the hawk is a good fellow—And chanticleer, with cockscomb yellow;But all the ravens—they must go—Pry in futurities, you know.That will not do; to baffle allWith truth, for the apocryphal.No; jays and pies will do far better,—They talk by rote, nor know a letter."
A sparrow, on the housetop, heard—The sparrow is a knowing bird:"If rogues unto preferments rise,I ask nor place nor seignories.To the thatched cottage, I, to find,From courts afar, my peace of mind."
Esteemis frequently misplaced,Where she may even stand disgraced;We must allow to wealth and birthPrecedence, which is due on earth:But our esteem is only dueUnto the worth of man and virtue.Around an ancient pedigreeThere is a halo fair to see,With "unwrung withers" we affordOur salutation to milord,As due unto his ancient house,Albeit his lordship be a chouse.And riches dazzle us—we knowHow much they might or should bestow:But power is nothing,sansthe will,Often recalcitrant to ill:And yet the mob will stand and gazeOn each, with similar amaze.But worst of all the lot, we grant,The parasite or sycophant:Such as can vilely condescendTo dirty jobs; and bow and bend,With meanest tropes of adulation,To have and hold on to their station.E'en such a ministry amongAre found amidst the waiting throng.Where'er are misdeeds, there are bevies;And wanting never at the levees,Men who have trimmed the stocks, been rabbled,In South Seas and in gold mines dabbled,Where sycophants applauded schemesMadder than the maddest madman's dreams.When pagans sacrificed to Moloch,They gave the first-born of their low stock;But here, unless all history lies,Nations are made the sacrifice.For look through courts, and you will findThe principle that rules mankind,—Worshipped beneath the sundry shapesOf wolves, and lions, fox, and apes.Where, then, can we esteem bestow,—To-day in place, to-morrow low?And the winged insects of his powerGone—when they see the tempests lower:Like to the bubble, full and fair,With hues prismatic, puffed with air.Another puff—and down it tends—Earthward one dingy drop descends.A maiden, much misused by Time—All aspirations of her prime,Like the soap bubble, puffed and burst,—Monkeys, and dogs, and parrots nurst;A whole menagerie employedThe passing hours which she enjoyed.A monkey, big as a gorilla,Who stalked beneath a big umbrella,Was her prime minister: his fingerWas wont in each man's pie to linger.She liked the monster, and assignedThe poultry-yard to him, to findThe daily rations of the corn.Behold him now, with brow of scorn,Amidst his vassals: come for picking—Swans, turkeys, peacocks, ducks, and chicken.The minister appeared, the crowdPerformed the reverence due; and bowedAnd spoke their compliments and duties,Whilst he revolved in mind his new ties,And thought "What is a place of trust?—'And first unto thyself be just,And then it follows that you canNot be unjust to any man.'That moral motto is most true;As Shakespeare teaches, will I do."There was an applewoman's stall,With plums and nuts, beneath a wall;With her he then proposed to trade,—In corn, full payments to be made."Madam, in mind this dogma bear:'Buy in the cheap; sell in the dear;'And, since my barley costs me nothing,My market is as cheap as stuffing."Away then went the stores of grain,—The poultry died; and mistress, fainTo know the cause, named a commission—Which ended in the Pug's dismission,And left our hero in a hash,With Newgate and refunded cash.A gander met him in disgrace,Who knew him well when high in place."Two days ago," said Pug, "you bowedThe lowest of the cringing crowd.""I always bob my head beforeI pass," said Goosey, "a barn-door.I always cackle for my grain,And so do all my gosling train:But if I do not know a monkey,Whene'er I see one,—I'm a donkey."
Esteemis frequently misplaced,Where she may even stand disgraced;We must allow to wealth and birthPrecedence, which is due on earth:But our esteem is only dueUnto the worth of man and virtue.
Around an ancient pedigreeThere is a halo fair to see,With "unwrung withers" we affordOur salutation to milord,As due unto his ancient house,Albeit his lordship be a chouse.And riches dazzle us—we knowHow much they might or should bestow:But power is nothing,sansthe will,Often recalcitrant to ill:And yet the mob will stand and gazeOn each, with similar amaze.But worst of all the lot, we grant,The parasite or sycophant:Such as can vilely condescendTo dirty jobs; and bow and bend,With meanest tropes of adulation,To have and hold on to their station.E'en such a ministry amongAre found amidst the waiting throng.Where'er are misdeeds, there are bevies;And wanting never at the levees,Men who have trimmed the stocks, been rabbled,In South Seas and in gold mines dabbled,Where sycophants applauded schemesMadder than the maddest madman's dreams.
When pagans sacrificed to Moloch,They gave the first-born of their low stock;But here, unless all history lies,Nations are made the sacrifice.For look through courts, and you will findThe principle that rules mankind,—Worshipped beneath the sundry shapesOf wolves, and lions, fox, and apes.
Where, then, can we esteem bestow,—To-day in place, to-morrow low?And the winged insects of his powerGone—when they see the tempests lower:Like to the bubble, full and fair,With hues prismatic, puffed with air.Another puff—and down it tends—Earthward one dingy drop descends.
A maiden, much misused by Time—All aspirations of her prime,Like the soap bubble, puffed and burst,—Monkeys, and dogs, and parrots nurst;A whole menagerie employedThe passing hours which she enjoyed.A monkey, big as a gorilla,Who stalked beneath a big umbrella,Was her prime minister: his fingerWas wont in each man's pie to linger.She liked the monster, and assignedThe poultry-yard to him, to findThe daily rations of the corn.Behold him now, with brow of scorn,Amidst his vassals: come for picking—Swans, turkeys, peacocks, ducks, and chicken.The minister appeared, the crowdPerformed the reverence due; and bowedAnd spoke their compliments and duties,Whilst he revolved in mind his new ties,And thought "What is a place of trust?—'And first unto thyself be just,And then it follows that you canNot be unjust to any man.'That moral motto is most true;As Shakespeare teaches, will I do."
There was an applewoman's stall,With plums and nuts, beneath a wall;With her he then proposed to trade,—In corn, full payments to be made.
"Madam, in mind this dogma bear:'Buy in the cheap; sell in the dear;'And, since my barley costs me nothing,My market is as cheap as stuffing."
Away then went the stores of grain,—The poultry died; and mistress, fainTo know the cause, named a commission—Which ended in the Pug's dismission,And left our hero in a hash,With Newgate and refunded cash.
A gander met him in disgrace,Who knew him well when high in place."Two days ago," said Pug, "you bowedThe lowest of the cringing crowd."
"I always bob my head beforeI pass," said Goosey, "a barn-door.I always cackle for my grain,And so do all my gosling train:But if I do not know a monkey,Whene'er I see one,—I'm a donkey."
Youtell me that my verse is rough,And to do mischief like enough;Bid me eschew, in honest rhymes,Follies of countries and crimes.You ask me if I ever knewCourt chaplains thus lawn sleeves pursue?I meddle not with gown or lawn;I, therefore, have no need to fawn.If they must soothe a patron's ear,Not I—I was not born to bear;All base conditions I refuse,Nor will I so debase the muse.Though I ne'er flatter nor defame,Yet would I fain bring guilt to shame;And I corruption would expose,Though all corrupted were my foes.I no man's property invade,—Corruption 's an unlawful trade;So bribery also. PoliticiansShould be tied down to such conditions;If they were stinted of their tools,Less were their train of knaves and fools.Were such the case, let us reviewThe dreadful mischiefs to ensue.Some silver services 'twould stint,But that would aggrandise the Mint;Some ministers find less regard,But bring their servants more reward;Fewer informers, fewer spies,But that would swell the year's supplies;An annual job or two might drop,We should not miss it 'midst the crop;Some pensions, haply, be refused,The Civil List be less abused;It might the ministry confound,And yet the State stand safe and sound.Next, let it well be understoodI only mean my country's good—I wish all courtiers did the same.I wish to bar no honest claim;I wish the nation out of debt;No private man had cause to fret;Yet law and public good to beThe pole-stars of the Ministry;I wish corruption, bribery, pension,Were things there were no need to mention;I wish to strike a blow at vice,—Fall where it may, I am not nice;Although the Law—the devil take it!—Canscandalum magnatummake it.I vent no scandal, neither judgeAnother's conscience; on I trudge,And with my satire take no aim,Nor knave nor steward name by name.Yet still you think my fable bearsAllusion unto State affairs.I grant it does so; but, what then?—I strike at motives, not at men.If hands corrupted harm the nation,I bar no reader's application.There was an Ant, of flippant tongue,Who oft the ears of senates wrung;Whether he knew the thing or no,Assurance sat upon his brow;Who gained the post whereto he strained—The grain-controllership attained.But then old laws were very strict,And punished actionsderelict.Accounts were passed by year and year,The auditors would then appear,And his controllership of grainMust his accounts and stock explain.He put a balance-sheet in—cooked,An honest emmet o'er it looked,And said, "The hoard of grain is low;But the accounts themselves don't showBy any vouchers what the stocks are.Really, such documents but mocks are.""Sir," the controller said, "would youHave us pass everything to view?Divulge all matters to all eyes,Proclaim to winds state mysteries?'Twould lay us open to our foes;You see all that we dare disclose;And, on my honour, the expenseIs lavished on the swarm's defence."They passed the balance-sheet—againNext year's shewed "deficit of grain;"And thus again controller pleaded:"Much secret service has been needed,For famines threaten: turkey broodsHave been most clamorous for foods.Turkey invasions have cost dear,And geese were numerous last year.Really, these secrets told are ruin,And tend much to the realm's undoing."Again, without examination,They thanked his good administration.A third and fourth time this recurred,An auditor would then be heard:"Are we but tools," he said, "of rogues?Through us corruption disemboguesHer mighty flood; for every grainWe touch we vouch at least for twain.Where have they vanished? nay, in bribes.They have depoverished our tribes."Then followed an investigation,And a report unto the nation.The Ant was punished, and his hoard—All that remained of it—restored.
Youtell me that my verse is rough,And to do mischief like enough;Bid me eschew, in honest rhymes,Follies of countries and crimes.You ask me if I ever knewCourt chaplains thus lawn sleeves pursue?I meddle not with gown or lawn;I, therefore, have no need to fawn.If they must soothe a patron's ear,Not I—I was not born to bear;All base conditions I refuse,Nor will I so debase the muse.
Though I ne'er flatter nor defame,Yet would I fain bring guilt to shame;And I corruption would expose,Though all corrupted were my foes.I no man's property invade,—Corruption 's an unlawful trade;So bribery also. PoliticiansShould be tied down to such conditions;If they were stinted of their tools,Less were their train of knaves and fools.
Were such the case, let us reviewThe dreadful mischiefs to ensue.Some silver services 'twould stint,But that would aggrandise the Mint;Some ministers find less regard,But bring their servants more reward;Fewer informers, fewer spies,But that would swell the year's supplies;An annual job or two might drop,We should not miss it 'midst the crop;Some pensions, haply, be refused,The Civil List be less abused;It might the ministry confound,And yet the State stand safe and sound.Next, let it well be understoodI only mean my country's good—I wish all courtiers did the same.I wish to bar no honest claim;I wish the nation out of debt;No private man had cause to fret;Yet law and public good to beThe pole-stars of the Ministry;I wish corruption, bribery, pension,Were things there were no need to mention;I wish to strike a blow at vice,—Fall where it may, I am not nice;Although the Law—the devil take it!—Canscandalum magnatummake it.I vent no scandal, neither judgeAnother's conscience; on I trudge,And with my satire take no aim,Nor knave nor steward name by name.Yet still you think my fable bearsAllusion unto State affairs.
I grant it does so; but, what then?—I strike at motives, not at men.If hands corrupted harm the nation,I bar no reader's application.
There was an Ant, of flippant tongue,Who oft the ears of senates wrung;Whether he knew the thing or no,Assurance sat upon his brow;Who gained the post whereto he strained—The grain-controllership attained.But then old laws were very strict,And punished actionsderelict.Accounts were passed by year and year,The auditors would then appear,And his controllership of grainMust his accounts and stock explain.
He put a balance-sheet in—cooked,An honest emmet o'er it looked,And said, "The hoard of grain is low;But the accounts themselves don't showBy any vouchers what the stocks are.Really, such documents but mocks are."
"Sir," the controller said, "would youHave us pass everything to view?Divulge all matters to all eyes,Proclaim to winds state mysteries?'Twould lay us open to our foes;You see all that we dare disclose;And, on my honour, the expenseIs lavished on the swarm's defence."
They passed the balance-sheet—againNext year's shewed "deficit of grain;"And thus again controller pleaded:"Much secret service has been needed,For famines threaten: turkey broodsHave been most clamorous for foods.Turkey invasions have cost dear,And geese were numerous last year.Really, these secrets told are ruin,And tend much to the realm's undoing."
Again, without examination,They thanked his good administration.A third and fourth time this recurred,An auditor would then be heard:"Are we but tools," he said, "of rogues?Through us corruption disemboguesHer mighty flood; for every grainWe touch we vouch at least for twain.Where have they vanished? nay, in bribes.They have depoverished our tribes."
Then followed an investigation,And a report unto the nation.The Ant was punished, and his hoard—All that remained of it—restored.
Ah! my dear fellow, write the mottoNosce teipsumo'er your grotto;For he must daily wiser grow,Determined his own scope to know.He never launches from the shoreWithout the compass, sail, and oar.He, ere he builds, computes the costs;And, ere he fights, reviews the hosts.He safely walks within the fence,And reason takes from common sense:Pride and presumption standing checkedBefore some palpable defect.To aid the search for pride's eviction,A coxcomb claims a high distinction.Not to one age or sex confinedAre coxcombs, but of rank and kind;Pervading all ranks, great and small,Who take and never give the wall.By ignorance is pride increased;They who assume most, know the least.Yet coxcombs do not, all alike,Our ridicule and laughter strike.For some are lovers, some are bores,Some rummage in the useless storesOf folios ranged upon the shelf,Another only loves himself.Such coxcombs are of private station:Ambition soars to rule the nation.They flattery swallow: do not fear,—No nonsense will offend their ear:Though you be sycophant professed,You will not put his soul to test.If policy should be his care,DrumMachiavelliin his ear;If commerce or the naval service,Potter of Mazarin and Jervis.Always, with due comparison,By him let all that 's done be done;Troops, levies, and ambassadors,Treaties and taxes, wars and stores;No blunders or crude schemes are tost,Each enterprise repays its cost.He is the pilot at the helmTo succour and to save the realm.Spare not your Turkey-poult to cram,He never will suspect youflam.There was a bear of manners rough,Who could take bee-hives well enough:He lived by plundered honey-comb,And raided the industrial home.Success had puffed him with conceit;He boasted daily of some feat.In arrogance right uncontrolledHe grew pragmatic, busy, bold;And beasts, with reverential stare,Thought him a most prodigious bear.He grew dictator in his mood,And seized on every spoil was good;From chickens, rising by degrees,Until he took the butcher's fees:Then, in his overweening pride,Over the hounds he would preside;And, lastly, visiting the rocks,He took his province from the fox.And so it happened on a dayA yawl equipped at anchor lay.He stopped, and thus expressed his mind:"What blundering puppies are mankind!What stupid pedantry in schools,Their compasses and nautic tools!I will assume the helm, and showVain man a dodge he ought to know."He gained the vessel, took his stand.The beasts, astonished, lined the strand;He weighed the anchor, slacked the sail,Put her about before the gale,But shipped no rudder: ill then met her;He ran ashore, and there upset her.The roach and gudgeon, native there,Gathered to quiz the floundering bear.Not so the watermen: the crewGathered around to thrash him too;And merriment ran on the strandAs Bruin, chained, was dragged to land.
Ah! my dear fellow, write the mottoNosce teipsumo'er your grotto;For he must daily wiser grow,Determined his own scope to know.He never launches from the shoreWithout the compass, sail, and oar.He, ere he builds, computes the costs;And, ere he fights, reviews the hosts.He safely walks within the fence,And reason takes from common sense:Pride and presumption standing checkedBefore some palpable defect.
To aid the search for pride's eviction,A coxcomb claims a high distinction.Not to one age or sex confinedAre coxcombs, but of rank and kind;Pervading all ranks, great and small,Who take and never give the wall.By ignorance is pride increased;They who assume most, know the least.Yet coxcombs do not, all alike,Our ridicule and laughter strike.For some are lovers, some are bores,Some rummage in the useless storesOf folios ranged upon the shelf,Another only loves himself.Such coxcombs are of private station:Ambition soars to rule the nation.They flattery swallow: do not fear,—No nonsense will offend their ear:Though you be sycophant professed,You will not put his soul to test.If policy should be his care,DrumMachiavelliin his ear;If commerce or the naval service,Potter of Mazarin and Jervis.Always, with due comparison,By him let all that 's done be done;Troops, levies, and ambassadors,Treaties and taxes, wars and stores;No blunders or crude schemes are tost,Each enterprise repays its cost.He is the pilot at the helmTo succour and to save the realm.Spare not your Turkey-poult to cram,He never will suspect youflam.
There was a bear of manners rough,Who could take bee-hives well enough:He lived by plundered honey-comb,And raided the industrial home.Success had puffed him with conceit;He boasted daily of some feat.In arrogance right uncontrolledHe grew pragmatic, busy, bold;And beasts, with reverential stare,Thought him a most prodigious bear.
He grew dictator in his mood,And seized on every spoil was good;From chickens, rising by degrees,Until he took the butcher's fees:Then, in his overweening pride,Over the hounds he would preside;And, lastly, visiting the rocks,He took his province from the fox.And so it happened on a dayA yawl equipped at anchor lay.He stopped, and thus expressed his mind:"What blundering puppies are mankind!What stupid pedantry in schools,Their compasses and nautic tools!I will assume the helm, and showVain man a dodge he ought to know."
He gained the vessel, took his stand.The beasts, astonished, lined the strand;He weighed the anchor, slacked the sail,Put her about before the gale,But shipped no rudder: ill then met her;He ran ashore, and there upset her.
The roach and gudgeon, native there,Gathered to quiz the floundering bear.Not so the watermen: the crewGathered around to thrash him too;And merriment ran on the strandAs Bruin, chained, was dragged to land.
Man, with integrity of heart,Disdains to play a double part:He bears a moral coat of mail,When envy snarls and slanders rail.From virtue's shield the shafts resound,And his light shines in freedom round.If in his country's cause he rise,Unbribed, unawed, he will advise;Will fear no ministerial frown,Neither will clamour put him down.But if you play the politicianWith soul averse to the position,Your lips and teeth must be controlled.What minister his place could holdWere falsehood banished from the court,Or truth to princes gain resort?The minister would lose his place,If he could not his foes disgrace.For none is born a politicianWho cannot lie by intuition:By which the safety of the throneIs kept—subservient to his own.For monarchs must be kept deludedBy falsehood from the lips exuded,And, ministerial schemes pursuing,Care nothing for the public ruin.Antiochus, lost in a chase,Traversed the wood with mended pace,And reached a cottage, sore distressed.A Parthian fed the regal guest,But knew not whom: the countryman,Warmed by unwonted wine, beganTo talk of courts and talk of kings:"We country folk, we see such things.They say the king is good and wise:Ah! we could open both his eyes.They say, God bless him! he means good.Ah! we could open them—we could;—And show him how his courtiers ride us:They rob us, and they then deride us.If King Antiochus could see,Or if he knew as much as we,How servants wound a master's name,—From kings to cobblers 'tis the same,—If King Antiochus, I say,Could see, he'd kick those scamps away."Both in good time their couches sought;The peasant slept, the monarch thought.At earliest dawn the courtiers foundAnd owned the king by trumpet sound.Unto his rustic host the guest,With due reward, his thanks expressed;And turning to his courtier train:"Since you are bent on private gain,You may your private gain pursue;Henceforth I will be quit of you."A country squire, by whim directed,The nobler stocks canine neglected;Nor hound nor pointer by him bred.Yap was his cur, and Yap was fed;And Yap brought all his blood relationsTo fill the posts and eat the rations;And to that end it came aboutThat all the others were turned out.Now Yap, as curs are wont to do—If great men's curs—on tradesmen flew,Unless they bribed him: with a boundHe worried all the tenants round.For why? he lived in constant fearLest they, in hate, should interfere.So Master Yap would snarl and bite,Then clap his tail, and fly with fright;As he, with bay and bristling hair,Assailed each tradesman who came there.He deemed, if truth should get admittance,'Twould followed be by his demittance.It chanced that Yap, upon a day,Was by a kins-cur lured to play;And, as Miss Yaps there were, they thoughtUnto Miss Yaps to pay their court,And had a little hunting bouting,Like Antony, who so went outingWith Cleopatra.—So pursuing,Yap and Mark Antony found ruin.A neighbour passing by, then ventured—And, seeing the coast clear, he entered.The squire enjoyed a quiet chat,And said: "Now tell me, neighbour Mat,Why do men shun my hall? Of late,No neighbour enters in my gate;I do not choose thence to infer——""Squire, 'tis nothing but the cur,"Mat answered him; "with cursed spite,The brute does nought but bark and bite.There is some cause, we all agree:He swears 'tis us—we say 'tis he.Get rid of him, the snarling brute,And these old halls shall not be mute;There nothing is we more desire,Than lose the cur and win the squire."The truth prevailed, and with disgraceThe cur was cudgelled out of place.
Man, with integrity of heart,Disdains to play a double part:He bears a moral coat of mail,When envy snarls and slanders rail.From virtue's shield the shafts resound,And his light shines in freedom round.
If in his country's cause he rise,Unbribed, unawed, he will advise;Will fear no ministerial frown,Neither will clamour put him down.But if you play the politicianWith soul averse to the position,Your lips and teeth must be controlled.
What minister his place could holdWere falsehood banished from the court,Or truth to princes gain resort?The minister would lose his place,If he could not his foes disgrace.
For none is born a politicianWho cannot lie by intuition:By which the safety of the throneIs kept—subservient to his own.For monarchs must be kept deludedBy falsehood from the lips exuded,And, ministerial schemes pursuing,Care nothing for the public ruin.
Antiochus, lost in a chase,Traversed the wood with mended pace,And reached a cottage, sore distressed.A Parthian fed the regal guest,But knew not whom: the countryman,Warmed by unwonted wine, beganTo talk of courts and talk of kings:
"We country folk, we see such things.They say the king is good and wise:Ah! we could open both his eyes.They say, God bless him! he means good.Ah! we could open them—we could;—And show him how his courtiers ride us:They rob us, and they then deride us.If King Antiochus could see,Or if he knew as much as we,How servants wound a master's name,—From kings to cobblers 'tis the same,—If King Antiochus, I say,Could see, he'd kick those scamps away."
Both in good time their couches sought;The peasant slept, the monarch thought.At earliest dawn the courtiers foundAnd owned the king by trumpet sound.Unto his rustic host the guest,With due reward, his thanks expressed;And turning to his courtier train:"Since you are bent on private gain,You may your private gain pursue;Henceforth I will be quit of you."
A country squire, by whim directed,The nobler stocks canine neglected;Nor hound nor pointer by him bred.Yap was his cur, and Yap was fed;And Yap brought all his blood relationsTo fill the posts and eat the rations;And to that end it came aboutThat all the others were turned out.Now Yap, as curs are wont to do—If great men's curs—on tradesmen flew,Unless they bribed him: with a boundHe worried all the tenants round.For why? he lived in constant fearLest they, in hate, should interfere.So Master Yap would snarl and bite,Then clap his tail, and fly with fright;As he, with bay and bristling hair,Assailed each tradesman who came there.He deemed, if truth should get admittance,'Twould followed be by his demittance.
It chanced that Yap, upon a day,Was by a kins-cur lured to play;And, as Miss Yaps there were, they thoughtUnto Miss Yaps to pay their court,And had a little hunting bouting,Like Antony, who so went outingWith Cleopatra.—So pursuing,Yap and Mark Antony found ruin.A neighbour passing by, then ventured—And, seeing the coast clear, he entered.The squire enjoyed a quiet chat,And said: "Now tell me, neighbour Mat,Why do men shun my hall? Of late,No neighbour enters in my gate;I do not choose thence to infer——"
"Squire, 'tis nothing but the cur,"Mat answered him; "with cursed spite,The brute does nought but bark and bite.There is some cause, we all agree:He swears 'tis us—we say 'tis he.Get rid of him, the snarling brute,And these old halls shall not be mute;There nothing is we more desire,Than lose the cur and win the squire."
The truth prevailed, and with disgraceThe cur was cudgelled out of place.
Nosce teipsum: look and spy,Have you a friend so fond as I?Have you a fault, to mankind known,Not hidden unto eyes your own?When airy castles you importune,Down falling, by the breath of Fortune,Did I e'er doubt you should inherit,If Fortune's wheel devolved on merit?It was not so; for Fortune's frownStill perseveres to hold you down.Then let us seek the cause, and viewWhat others say and others do.Have we, like those in place, resignedOur independency of mind?Have we had scruples—and thereforePractising morals, are we poor?If such be our forlorn position,Would Fortune mend the lorn condition?On wealth if happiness were built,Villains would compass it by guilt.No:crescit amor nummi—misersAre not so heartwhole as are sizars.Think, O John Gay!—and that's myself—Should Fortune make you her own elf,Would that augment your happiness?Or haply might she make it less?Suppose yourself a wealthy heirOf houses, lands, and income clear:Your luxury might break all boundsOf plate and table, steeds, and hounds.Debts—debts of honour—lust of play—Will waste a county's wealth away;And so your income clear may fail,And end in exile or in jail.Or were you raised to height of power,Would that ameliorate an hour?Would avarice and false applauseWeigh in the balance as two straws?Defrauded nations, blinded kings,Would they not, think you, leave their stings?If happiness, then, be your aim(I mean the true, not false of fame),She nor in courts nor camps resides,Nor in the lowly cottage bides;Nor on the soil, nor on the wind;She tenants only in the mind.Wearied by toil, beneath the shade,A rustic rested on his spade."This load of life, from year to year,"He said, "is very hard to bear.The dawning morning bids me upTo toil and labour till I sup!"Jove heard, and answered him: "My friend,Complaints that are unjust offend:Speak out your griefs, if you repineAt any act or deed of mine.If you can mend your state, instruct me;I wish but knowledge to conduct me."So saying, from the mundane crowdsHe raised the rustic to the clouds.He showed a miser—said: "BeholdHis bulky bags that burst with gold!He counts it over, and the storeIs every day increased by more.""O happiness!" the rustic cried:"What can a fellow wish beside?""Ah, wait! until I charm your eyes,"Said Jupiter, "from fallacies."He looked again, and saw the breastLike a rough ocean—ne'er at rest:Fear, guilt, and conscience gnawed the heart;Extortion ever made it smart—It seemed as if no sunlit gleamCould brighten it in thought or dream."Ah! may the gods," he cried, "rejectMy prayer for gold, and comfort wreckt:But see yon minister of state,And the gay crowd who proudly wait!""A second time I charm your eyes,"Said Jove, "from mortal fallacies."He looked again, and saw a breastGnawed by corruption, wanting rest:He saw him one time drunk with power,Tottering upon Ambition's tower;Then, seized with giddiness and fear,Seeing his downfall in his rear,"O Jupiter!" the rustic said,"Give me again my plough and spade."But Jupiter was not contented:The rustic's griefs he still resented.So he deployed before his sightThe lawyer's and the soldier's plight;The miseries of war and law,The battle-field and legal flaw."O Jupiter!" the rustic said,"Restore me to the plough and spade."Then Jupiter: "You mortals blunder:There is no happiness in thunder;For happiness, to nought confined,Is found in the contented mind:Go home again, and be contented,Nor grumble more like one demented."Then Jupiter, to aid the clown,Where he had found him put him down.
Nosce teipsum: look and spy,Have you a friend so fond as I?Have you a fault, to mankind known,Not hidden unto eyes your own?When airy castles you importune,Down falling, by the breath of Fortune,Did I e'er doubt you should inherit,If Fortune's wheel devolved on merit?It was not so; for Fortune's frownStill perseveres to hold you down.Then let us seek the cause, and viewWhat others say and others do.Have we, like those in place, resignedOur independency of mind?Have we had scruples—and thereforePractising morals, are we poor?If such be our forlorn position,Would Fortune mend the lorn condition?On wealth if happiness were built,Villains would compass it by guilt.No:crescit amor nummi—misersAre not so heartwhole as are sizars.Think, O John Gay!—and that's myself—Should Fortune make you her own elf,Would that augment your happiness?Or haply might she make it less?
Suppose yourself a wealthy heirOf houses, lands, and income clear:Your luxury might break all boundsOf plate and table, steeds, and hounds.Debts—debts of honour—lust of play—Will waste a county's wealth away;And so your income clear may fail,And end in exile or in jail.
Or were you raised to height of power,Would that ameliorate an hour?Would avarice and false applauseWeigh in the balance as two straws?Defrauded nations, blinded kings,Would they not, think you, leave their stings?If happiness, then, be your aim(I mean the true, not false of fame),She nor in courts nor camps resides,Nor in the lowly cottage bides;Nor on the soil, nor on the wind;She tenants only in the mind.
Wearied by toil, beneath the shade,A rustic rested on his spade."This load of life, from year to year,"He said, "is very hard to bear.The dawning morning bids me upTo toil and labour till I sup!"
Jove heard, and answered him: "My friend,Complaints that are unjust offend:Speak out your griefs, if you repineAt any act or deed of mine.If you can mend your state, instruct me;I wish but knowledge to conduct me."
So saying, from the mundane crowdsHe raised the rustic to the clouds.
He showed a miser—said: "BeholdHis bulky bags that burst with gold!He counts it over, and the storeIs every day increased by more."
"O happiness!" the rustic cried:"What can a fellow wish beside?"
"Ah, wait! until I charm your eyes,"Said Jupiter, "from fallacies."
He looked again, and saw the breastLike a rough ocean—ne'er at rest:Fear, guilt, and conscience gnawed the heart;Extortion ever made it smart—It seemed as if no sunlit gleamCould brighten it in thought or dream.
"Ah! may the gods," he cried, "rejectMy prayer for gold, and comfort wreckt:But see yon minister of state,And the gay crowd who proudly wait!"
"A second time I charm your eyes,"Said Jove, "from mortal fallacies."
He looked again, and saw a breastGnawed by corruption, wanting rest:He saw him one time drunk with power,Tottering upon Ambition's tower;Then, seized with giddiness and fear,Seeing his downfall in his rear,"O Jupiter!" the rustic said,"Give me again my plough and spade."
But Jupiter was not contented:The rustic's griefs he still resented.So he deployed before his sightThe lawyer's and the soldier's plight;The miseries of war and law,The battle-field and legal flaw.
"O Jupiter!" the rustic said,"Restore me to the plough and spade."
Then Jupiter: "You mortals blunder:There is no happiness in thunder;For happiness, to nought confined,Is found in the contented mind:Go home again, and be contented,Nor grumble more like one demented."
Then Jupiter, to aid the clown,Where he had found him put him down.
Mynative land, whose fertile groundNeptune and Amphitrite bound,—Britain, of trade the chosen mart,The seat of industry and art,—May never luxury or ministerCast over thee a mantle sinister!Still let thy fleet and cannon's roarAffright thy foes and guard thy shore.When Continental States contend,Be thou to them a common friend.Imperial rule may sway their land;Here Commerce only takes her stand,Diffusing good o'er all the world.The flag of Commerce, where unfurled,Stands with fair plenty in her train,And wealth, to bless her bright domain.For where the merchant sails to tradeFair is the face of Nature made.Glad is the king, in regal dome;Glad is the rustic, in his home;The flocks and culture glad the fields,And Peace her boon of plenty yields.For Nature meant that man should shareThe goods abounding everywhere,And barter corn, and oil, and wine;The iron ore and twisted twine,Cotton and silk, deep-bedded coal,Be interchanged from pole to pole.So each land's superfluitiesShould bind lands by commercial ties;And carry, from abounding stores,The luxuries of distant shores.The monarch and the rustic eatOf the same harvest, the same wheat;The artizan supplies the vest,The mason builds the roof of rest;The self-same iron-ores affordThe coulter of the plough and sword;And all, from cottage to the throne,Their common obligation ownFor private and for public cause,Protecting property and laws.The animals were once distressedBy bitter famine, and addressedThemselves to man to find them food,And bound themselves in servitude;For, whilst they starved, or whilst they fed,Man had his lasting hoards of bread.The cat demanded leave to sue,"Well, Puss," says Man, "and what can you do?""Scatter the rats and mice," said Tib;"And guard your grain in sack or crib.Foe am I of thegenus Mus,Absurdly called 'ridiculus;'Dan Æsop called him so, not I;Feed me, and every mouse shall die."Then to the starving hound, Man said:"Well, sir, and how can you earn bread?""My name is Trusty," said the hound;"And ne'er was I untrusty found.I am not used, by self-applause,To pander to my famished jaws;But I am well known; if you pleaseTo ask my character of these.My province is to watch, and keepThe house and fold the whilst you sleep;And thief and wolf alike shall knowI am your friend, and am their foe.""Ah!" said the Man, "we rarely findTrust uncorrupted with mankind.Such services, indeed, transcend;Pray, be my comrade and my friend."Then to the drone he turned, and said:"Well, sir; can you, sir, earn your bread?""I will explain, sir, if I can;I am," said drone, "a gentleman.Mechanics earn their bread—not I:Where'er there honey is, I fly;But, truly, it would not be fitI should submit to toil for it:I visit peaches, plums, and roses,Where Beauty on a couch reposes;I seldom fail the placid hour,When she takes bohea in the bower;Nor do I gather stores of pelf—,My object is to please myself;And if I lay to aught pretence,It is to ease and elegance.""So, Mr. Drone; and have you done?Then, from that peach, I pray, begone;If you won't work, you shall not eat,—That is, with me; so quit that seat.If all the world were such as you,We all should starve when north winds blewBut he who, with industrious zeal,Contributes to the common weal,Has the true secret understoodOf private and of public good.Be off with you!" He raised his hand,Which the vain insect dared withstand;It smote the parasite of prideAnd there the idler fell, and died.
Mynative land, whose fertile groundNeptune and Amphitrite bound,—Britain, of trade the chosen mart,The seat of industry and art,—May never luxury or ministerCast over thee a mantle sinister!Still let thy fleet and cannon's roarAffright thy foes and guard thy shore.When Continental States contend,Be thou to them a common friend.Imperial rule may sway their land;Here Commerce only takes her stand,Diffusing good o'er all the world.The flag of Commerce, where unfurled,Stands with fair plenty in her train,And wealth, to bless her bright domain.For where the merchant sails to tradeFair is the face of Nature made.Glad is the king, in regal dome;Glad is the rustic, in his home;The flocks and culture glad the fields,And Peace her boon of plenty yields.For Nature meant that man should shareThe goods abounding everywhere,And barter corn, and oil, and wine;The iron ore and twisted twine,Cotton and silk, deep-bedded coal,Be interchanged from pole to pole.So each land's superfluitiesShould bind lands by commercial ties;And carry, from abounding stores,The luxuries of distant shores.The monarch and the rustic eatOf the same harvest, the same wheat;The artizan supplies the vest,The mason builds the roof of rest;The self-same iron-ores affordThe coulter of the plough and sword;And all, from cottage to the throne,Their common obligation ownFor private and for public cause,Protecting property and laws.
The animals were once distressedBy bitter famine, and addressedThemselves to man to find them food,And bound themselves in servitude;For, whilst they starved, or whilst they fed,Man had his lasting hoards of bread.
The cat demanded leave to sue,"Well, Puss," says Man, "and what can you do?""Scatter the rats and mice," said Tib;"And guard your grain in sack or crib.Foe am I of thegenus Mus,Absurdly called 'ridiculus;'Dan Æsop called him so, not I;Feed me, and every mouse shall die."
Then to the starving hound, Man said:"Well, sir, and how can you earn bread?"
"My name is Trusty," said the hound;"And ne'er was I untrusty found.I am not used, by self-applause,To pander to my famished jaws;But I am well known; if you pleaseTo ask my character of these.My province is to watch, and keepThe house and fold the whilst you sleep;And thief and wolf alike shall knowI am your friend, and am their foe."
"Ah!" said the Man, "we rarely findTrust uncorrupted with mankind.Such services, indeed, transcend;Pray, be my comrade and my friend."
Then to the drone he turned, and said:"Well, sir; can you, sir, earn your bread?"
"I will explain, sir, if I can;I am," said drone, "a gentleman.Mechanics earn their bread—not I:Where'er there honey is, I fly;But, truly, it would not be fitI should submit to toil for it:I visit peaches, plums, and roses,Where Beauty on a couch reposes;I seldom fail the placid hour,When she takes bohea in the bower;Nor do I gather stores of pelf—,My object is to please myself;And if I lay to aught pretence,It is to ease and elegance."
"So, Mr. Drone; and have you done?Then, from that peach, I pray, begone;If you won't work, you shall not eat,—That is, with me; so quit that seat.If all the world were such as you,We all should starve when north winds blewBut he who, with industrious zeal,Contributes to the common weal,Has the true secret understoodOf private and of public good.Be off with you!" He raised his hand,Which the vain insect dared withstand;It smote the parasite of prideAnd there the idler fell, and died.
I grantthese facts: corruption sways,Self-interest does pervert man's ways;That bribes do blind; that present crimesDo equal those of former times:Can I against plain facts engageTo vindicate the present age?I know that bribes in modern palmCan nobler energies encalm;That where such argument existsThere itching is in modern fists.And hence you hold that politiciansShould drive their nails on such conditions,So they might penetratesansbending,And win your way past comprehending.Premising no reflection's meant,Unto such doctrine I dissent.The barrister is bound to pleadUpon the side on which he 's fee'd;And so in every other tradeIs duty, by the guinea, paid.Man, we are taught, is prone to evil—That does not vindicate the devil:Besides, man, in his own behoof,Contrives to hide the cloven hoof.Nor is corruption of late date,—'Twas known in every age and state;And where corruption was employedThe public welfare was destroyed.Next see court minions in disgrace,Stripped of their treasure, stripped of place;What now is all their pride and boast,—The servile slave, the flattering host,The tongues that fed him with applause,The noisy champions of their cause?They press the foremost to accuseHis selfish jobs and paltry views.Ah, me! short-sighted were the fools,And false, aye false, the hireling tools.Was it such sycophants to getCorruption swelled the public debt?This motto would not shine amiss—Write, "Point d'argent et point de Suisse."The lion is the noblest brute,With parts and valour past dispute,And yet it is by all averredHis rule to jackalls is transferred.A rascal jackall once on lawAnd property put down his paw.The forest groaned brute-discontent,And swore its injuries to resent:The jackall heard it, and with fearHe saw disgrace approaching near.He said and thought: "I must defeatMalicious tongues, and guard my seat;Strengthen myself with new allies,And then this clamour may despise."Unto the generous brutes he fawned;The generous brutes the jackall scorned.What must he do? Friends must be made,And proselytes by bribes be paid;For think not a brute's paw withstandsThe bribe which dirties human hands.A hog o'er cabbage said his benison;The wolf was won by haunch of venison;A pullet won the fox; a thistleTickled the donkey's tongue of gristle.But now the royal leopard roseThe tricksy jackall to oppose:And as the rats will leave in lurchThe falling walls of house or church,So did each briber cut and runTo worship at the rising sun.The hog with warmth expressed his zeal,So did the wolf for public weal,—But claimed their venison and cabbage.The fox the like—without disparageUnto his perquisites of geese.The donkey asked a common's lease."Away," the leopard said, "ye crew,Whose conscience honesty ne'er knew!Away, I say, with all the tribeWho dare to ask or take a bribe:Cudgels, and not rewards, are dueTo such time-serving tools as you!"
I grantthese facts: corruption sways,Self-interest does pervert man's ways;That bribes do blind; that present crimesDo equal those of former times:Can I against plain facts engageTo vindicate the present age?I know that bribes in modern palmCan nobler energies encalm;That where such argument existsThere itching is in modern fists.And hence you hold that politiciansShould drive their nails on such conditions,So they might penetratesansbending,And win your way past comprehending.
Premising no reflection's meant,Unto such doctrine I dissent.The barrister is bound to pleadUpon the side on which he 's fee'd;And so in every other tradeIs duty, by the guinea, paid.Man, we are taught, is prone to evil—That does not vindicate the devil:Besides, man, in his own behoof,Contrives to hide the cloven hoof.Nor is corruption of late date,—'Twas known in every age and state;And where corruption was employedThe public welfare was destroyed.
Next see court minions in disgrace,Stripped of their treasure, stripped of place;What now is all their pride and boast,—The servile slave, the flattering host,The tongues that fed him with applause,The noisy champions of their cause?They press the foremost to accuseHis selfish jobs and paltry views.Ah, me! short-sighted were the fools,And false, aye false, the hireling tools.Was it such sycophants to getCorruption swelled the public debt?This motto would not shine amiss—Write, "Point d'argent et point de Suisse."
The lion is the noblest brute,With parts and valour past dispute,And yet it is by all averredHis rule to jackalls is transferred.
A rascal jackall once on lawAnd property put down his paw.The forest groaned brute-discontent,And swore its injuries to resent:The jackall heard it, and with fearHe saw disgrace approaching near.
He said and thought: "I must defeatMalicious tongues, and guard my seat;Strengthen myself with new allies,And then this clamour may despise."Unto the generous brutes he fawned;The generous brutes the jackall scorned.What must he do? Friends must be made,And proselytes by bribes be paid;For think not a brute's paw withstandsThe bribe which dirties human hands.
A hog o'er cabbage said his benison;The wolf was won by haunch of venison;A pullet won the fox; a thistleTickled the donkey's tongue of gristle.
But now the royal leopard roseThe tricksy jackall to oppose:And as the rats will leave in lurchThe falling walls of house or church,So did each briber cut and runTo worship at the rising sun.The hog with warmth expressed his zeal,So did the wolf for public weal,—But claimed their venison and cabbage.The fox the like—without disparageUnto his perquisites of geese.The donkey asked a common's lease.
"Away," the leopard said, "ye crew,Whose conscience honesty ne'er knew!Away, I say, with all the tribeWho dare to ask or take a bribe:Cudgels, and not rewards, are dueTo such time-serving tools as you!"