FABLE XVII.Shepherd's Dog and Wolf.A hungrywolf had thinned the fold,Safely he refuged on the wold;And, as in den secure he lay,The thefts of night regaled his day.The shepherd's dog, who searched the glen,By chance found the marauder's den.They fought like Trojan and like Greek,Till it fell out they both waxed weak."Wolf," said the dog, "the whilst we rest on,I fain would ask of you a question.""Ask on," the wolf replied; "I'm ready.""Wolf," said the dog, "with soul so steadyAnd limbs so strong, I wonder muchThat you our lambs and ewes should touch.There are the lion and the boarTo bathe your jaws with worthier gore;'Tis cowardly to raid the fold.""Friend," said the wolf, "I pray thee, hold!Nature framed me a beast of prey,And I must eat when, where I may.Now if your bosom burn with zealTo help and aid the bleating-weal,Hence to your lord and master: sayWhat you have said to me; or, stay,Tell him that I snatch, now and then,One sheep for thousands gorged by men.I am their foe, and called a curse,But a pretended friend is worse."FABLE XVIII.The Unsatisfactory Painter.Lestcaptious men suspect your story,Speak modestly its history.The traveller, who overleaps the boundsOf probability, confounds;But though men hear your deeds with phlegm,You may with flattery cram them.Hyperboles, though ne'er so great,Will yet come short of self-conceit.A painter drew his portraits truly,And marked complexion and mien duly;—Really a fellow knew the picture,There was nor flattery nor delicture.The eyes, and mouth, and faulty nose,Were all showed up in grim repose;He marked the dates of youth and age—But so he lost his clientage:The which determined to recover,He turned in mind the matter over.He bought a pair of busts—one, Venus,The other was Apollo Phœbus;Above his subject client placed them,And for the faulty features traced them.Chatted the while of Titian's tints,Of Guido—Raphael—neither stintsTo raise him to the empyrëal,Whilst he is sketching his ideal.He sketches, utters, "That will do:Be pleased, my lord, to come and view.""I thought my mouth a little wider.""My lord, my lord, you me deride, ah!""Suchwasmy nose when I was young.""My lord, you have a witty tongue.""Ah well, ah well! you artists flatter.""That were, my lord, no easy matter.""Ah well, ah well! you artists see best.""My lord, I only (aside) earn my fee best."So with a lady—he, between us,Borrowed the face and form of Venus.There was no fear of its rejection—Her lover voted it perfection.So on he went to fame and glory,And raised his price—which ends the story;—But not the moral,—which, though fainter,Bids one to scorn an honest painter.FABLE XIX.Lion and Cub.Allmen are fond of rule and place,Though granted by the mean and base;Yet all superior merit fly,Nor will endure an equal nigh.They o'er some ale-house club presideWith smoke and joke and paltry pride.Nay, e'en with blockheads pass the night;If such can read, to such I write.A lion cub of sordid mindAvoided all the lion-kind,And, greedy of applause, sought feastsWith asses and ignoble beasts;There, as their president appears,An ass in every point, but ears.If he would perpetrate a joke,They brayed applause before he spoke;And when he spoke, with shout they praised,And said he beautifully brayed.Elate with adulation, thenHe sought his father's royal den,And brayed a bray. The lion started,The noble heart within him smarted."You lion cub," he said, "your brayProclaims where you pass night and day,—'Midst coxcombs who, with shameless face,Blush not proclaiming their disgrace.""Father, the club deems very fine,All that conforms with asinine.""My son, what stupid asses prizeLions and nobler brutes despise."FABLE XX.Old Hen and Young Cock.Oncean old hen led forth her broodTo scratch and glean and peck for food;A chick, to give her wings a spell,Fluttered and tumbled in a well.The mother wept till day was done,When she met with a grown-up son,And thus addressed him:—"My dear boy,Your years and vigour give me joy:You thrash all cocks around, I'm told;'Tis right, cocks should be brave and bold:But never—fears I cannot quell—Never, my son, go near that well;A hateful, false, and wretched place,Which is most fatal to my race.Imprint that counsel on your breast,And trust to providence the rest."He thanked the dame's maternal care,And promised never to go near.Yet still he burned to disobey,And hovered round it day by day;And communed thus: "I wonder why?Does mother think my soul is shy?Thinks me a coward? or does sheStore grain in yonder well from me?I'll find that out, and so here goes."So said, he flaps his wings and crows,Mounted the margin, peered below,Where to repel him rose a foe.His choler rose, his plumes upreared—With ruffled plumes the foe appeared.Challenged to fight—he dashed him downUpon the mirrored wave to drown;And drowning uttered: "This conditionComes from my mother's prohibition.Did she forget, or not believe,That I too am a son of Eve?"FABLE XXI.The Ratcatcher and Cats.Therats by night the mischief did,And Betty every morn was chid.The cheese was nibbled, tarts were taken,And purloined were the eggs and bacon;And Betty cursed the cat, whose dutyWas to protect and guard the booty.A ratcatcher, of well known skill,Was called to kill or scotch the ill;And, as an engineer, surveyedTheir haunts and laid an ambuscade.A cat behold him, and was wrath,Whilst she resolved to cross his path;Not to be beaten by such chaps,She silently removed his traps.Again he set the traps and toils,Again his cunning pussy foils.He set a trap to catch the thief,And pussy she got caught in brief."Ah!" said the rat-catcher, "you scamp,You are the spy within the camp."But the cat said, "A sister spare,Your science is our mutual care.""Science and cats!" the man replied;"We soon that question shall decide;You are my rival interloper,A nasty, sneaking, crouching groper."A sister tabby saw the cord,And interposed a happy word:"In every age and clime we seeTwo of a trade cannot agree;Each deems the other an encroacher,As sportsman thinks another poacher.Beauty with beauty vies in charms,And king with king in warfare's arms:But let us limit our desires,Nor war like beauties, kings, and squires;For though one prey we both pursueThere's prey enough for us and you."FABLE XXII.The Shaven and Shorn Goat.'Tisstrange to see a new-launched fashionLay on the soul and grow a passion.To illustrate such folly, IProffer some beast to the mind's eye.Now I select the goat. What then?I never said goats equal men.A goat of singularity—Not vainer than a goat need be—Lay on a thymy bank, and viewedHimself reflected in the flood."Confound my beard!" he thought, and said;"How badly it becomes my head;Upon my honour! women mightTake me to be some crazy wight."He sought the barber of the place,—A monkey 'twas, of Moorish race,Who shaved mankind, drew teeth, and bled.A pole diagonal—striped red,Teeth in their row in order strung,And pewter bason by them slung,Far in the street projecting stood—The pole with bandage symboled blood.Pug shaved our friend and took his penny,And hoped to shave him oft and many;Goatee, impatient of applause,Then sought his native hills and shaws."Heigh-day! how now? whoever heard—What gone and shaven off your beard?"The fop replied: "All realms polite,From Roman to the Muscovite,Now trim their beards and shave their chins;Shall we, like Monkish Capuchins,Alone be singular and hairy?One walks amidst the cities cheery,And men and boys all cease to pokeFun at the beard by way of joke—In days of old, so Romans jeeredStoic philosophers with beard.""Friend," said a bearded chieftain, "youAt Rome may do as Romans do;But if you refuge with our herd,I counsel you to keep your beard:For if you dread the jeers of others,How will you bear it from your brothers?"FABLE XXIII.Old Dame and Cats.Hewho holds friendship with a knave,Will reputation hardly save;And thus upon our choice of friendsOur good or evil name depends.A wrinkled hag—of naughty fame—Sat hovering o'er a flickering flame,Propped with both hands upon her kneesShe shook with palsy and the breeze.She had perhaps seen fourscore years,And backwards said her daily prayers;Her troop of cats with hunger mewed,—Tabbies and toms, a numerous brood.Teased with their murmuring, out she flewIn angry passion: "Hence, ye crew!—What made me take to keeping cats?Ye are as bad as bawling brats:With brats I might perhaps have grown rich;I never had been thought a known witch.Boys pester me, and strive to awe—Across my path they place a straw;They nail the horse-shoe, hide the broom-stick,Put pins, and every sort of trick.""Dame," said a tabby, "cease your prate,Enough to break a pussy's pate.What is our lot beneath your roof?Within, starvation; out, reproof:Elsewhere we had been honest mousers,And slept, by, fireside carousers.Here we are imps who serve a hag,And yonder broom-stick's thought your nag;Boys hunt us with a doom condign,To take one life out of our nine."FABLE XXIV.Butterfly and Snail.Allupstarts, insolent in place,Remind us of their vulgar race.A butterfly, but born one morning,Sat on a rose, the rosebud scorning.His wings of azure, jet, and gold,Were truly glorious to behold;He spread his wings, he sipped the dew,When an old neighbour hove in view—The snail, who left a slimy traceUpon the lawn, his native place."Adam," he to the gard'ner cried,"Behold this fellow by my side;What is the use with daily toilTo war with weeds, to clear the soil,And with keen intermittent labourTo graft and prune for fruit with flavourThe peach and plum, if such as he,Voracious vermin, may make free?Give them the roller or the rake,And crush as you would crush a snake."The snail replied: "Your arroganceAwakes my patience from its trance;Recalls to mind your humble birth,Born from the lowliest thing on earth.Nine times has Phœbus, with the hours,Awakened to new life, new flowers,Since you were a vile crawling thing!Though now endowed with painted wing,You then were vilest of the vile—I was a snail, but housed the while;Was born a snail, and snail shall die;And thou, though now a butterfly,Will leave behind a baneful breedOf caterpillar sons—thy seed."FABLE XXV.The Scold and Parrot.A husbandsaid unto his wife:"Who deals in slander deals in strife;Are we the heralds of disgrace,To thunder, love, at all our race—And, indiscriminate in rage,To spare nor friend nor sex nor age?Your tongue, love, is a rolling floodThat thundering onwards stirs up mud,And, like to fame and human woes,Progressing, strengthens as it flows.""My husband," so thetonguereplies,"So philosophic and so wise,Am I to be—so wisdom ridden—A parrot's privilege forbidden?You praise his talk—smile at his squallingYet in your wife you deem it brawling:Dear husband, must it still belongTo man to think his wife is wrong?A lesson learnt from nature's schoolTells me to call a fool a fool."But Nature disabused her wordsBy cat and monkey, dog and birds:Puss spat and pug grinned at the scold,The hound slunk off, the magpie told,With repetitions, woman's rage;Whilst poll, haranguing from her cage:"Parrots for prattling words are prized;Woman for prattling words despised.She who attacks another's fameDoes but discredit her own name;Upon her tongues malignant set,And with good interest pay their debt."FABLE XXVI.Cur and Mastiff.A sneakingcur caused much disasterBy pandering scandal for his master.The hound was beaten, mastiff chidden,Puss in disgrace, and pug forbidden.Each of his dearest chum grew shy.And none could tell a reason why.Burglars to rob the house laid wait.Betty in love, undid the gate;The cur was won by dint of meat;Remained the mastiff dog to cheat.The mastiff dog refused the bribe,And tore the hand of one beside.The cur off with the tidings ran,And told how he had bit a man.The master said: "Hanged he shall be!"They dragged poor Trusty to the tree:He met his master, and averredThat he had been condemned unheard.His lord then sat to hear the trial:The mastiff pleaded his denial;The cur then, special pleading, statedThe case—unduly aggravated.When evidence on either sideConcluded was, the dog replied,And ended with this peroration:"Trust not to curs of basest station,With itching palms—a plot is laid,And man and master are betrayed."The mastiff had with truth harangued:The truth appeared; the cur was hanged.FABLE XXVII.Sick Man and Angel."Isthere no hope?" the sick man said.The silent doctor shook his head,And took his leave with unfeigned sorrowTo lose a patient on the morrow.When left alone, the dying man"Let me review my life"—began;"My bargains—well, they were well made;'Tis the necessity of trade—Necessity is no transgression.Now for my portion in possession:My lands and my securities,They all are right, in every wise.If justice to myself and heirsHave done some hardships unawares,—Left Smith in jail for debt, or sentThe Browns adrift for unpaid rent,—I've given alms and helped my friends,What I propose will make amends:When I am numbered with the dead,And when my good bequests are read,Then will be seen and then be knownBenevolence I have not shown."The angel, present by his side,Bade him not in such hopes confide:"What deed have you done worthy praise?What orphan blesses, widow prays,To lengthen out your life one year?If you will now add deeds to prayer—Your neighbours want, whilst you abound—Give me a cheque—five hundred pound.""Where is the haste?" the sick man whines;"Who knows—who knows what Heaven designs:That sum, and more, are in my will;Perhaps I may recover still.""Fool!" said the angel: "it is plainThat your great happiness was gain;And after death would fain atoneBy giving what is not your own.""Whilst there is life, there's hope!" he cried;"Then why such haste?"—he spoke, and died.FABLE XXVIII.The Persian, the Sun, and the Cloud.Livesthere a bard for genius famedWhom Envy's tongue hath not declaimed?Her hissing snakes proclaim her spite;She summons up the fiends of night;Hatred and malice by her stand,And prompt to do what she command.As prostrate to the orb of dayA Persian, invocating, lay:"Parent of light, whose rays dispenseThe various gifts of Providence,Accept our praise, accept our prayer,Smile on our fields, and bless our year."A cloud passed by—a voice aloud,Like Envy's, issued from that cloud:"I can eclipse your gaudy orb,And every ray you ask absorb.Pray, then, to me—where praise is due—And I will grant the rays to you."The Persian answered in his wrath:"He raised thee to that airy path;A passing wind or puff of airWill hurl thee to thy proper sphere."The gale arose, the cloud was doomed,The golden orb his reign resumed.And as the sun above, so worthScatters the clouds of sons of earth.FABLE XXIX.The Dying Fox.A foxwas dying, and he layIn all the weakness of decay.A numerous progeny, with groans,Attended to his feeble tones:"My crimes lie heavy on my soul;My sons, my sons, your raids control!Ah, how the shrieks of murdered fowlEnviron me with stunning howl!"The hungry foxes in a ringLooked round, but saw there no such thing:"This is an ecstasy of brain:We fast, dear sir, and wish in vain.""Gluttons! restrain such wish," repliedThe dying fox; "be such defied;Inordinate desires deplore;The more you win, you grieve the more.Do not the dogs betray our pace,And gins and guns destroy our race?Old age—which few of us attain—Now puts a period to my pain.Would you the good name lost redeem?Live, then, in credit and esteem.""Good counsel, marry!" said a fox;"And quit our mountain-dens and rocks!But if we quit our native place,We bear the name that marks our race;And what our ancestry have doneDescends to us from sire to son.Though we should feed like harmless lambs,We should regarded be as shams;The change would never be believed;A name lost cannot be retrieved."The Sire replied: "Too true; but then—Hark! that's the cackle of a hen.Go, but be moderate, spare the brood:One chicken, one, might do me good."FABLE XXX.The Setter and the Partridge.Thesetting dog the stubble tried,And snuffed the breeze with nostrils wide;He set—the sportsmen from behind,Conscious of game, the net unwind.A partridge, which as warder stood,Warned, and the covey sought the wood.But, ere she followed from her cover,Thus she discharged her mind on Rover:"Thou fawning slave and sneaking cheat,Subservient unto man's deceit!Disgrace unto thy honest race,Unto the race of dogs disgrace;Who ere to men they bent the kneeWere noted for fidelity."The dog retorted with a sneer:"Since you are safe, enjoy your jeer;Rustic alike in kind and mind,And ignorant of courts refined.Sagacious courtiers do like me,—They rise to high supremacy;I copy them, and I inheritThe high rewards for worth and merit.""I might have known," the partridge said,"The school where you were trained and bred;With a smooth brow for every crisis,Inherent to your master's vices.You came from courts: return! adieu"—And to her covey off she flew.FABLE XXXI.The Universal Apparition.A rakewho had, by pleasure stuffing,Raked mind and body down to nothing,In wretched vacancy reclined,Enfeebled both in frame and mind.As pain and languor chose to bore him,A ghastly phantom rose before him:"My name is Care. Nor wealth nor powerCan give the heart a cheerful hourDevoid of health—impressed by care.From pleasures fraught with pains, forbear."The phantom fled. The rake abstained,And part of fleeing health retained.Then, to reform, he took a wife,Resolved to live a sober life.Again the phantom stood before him,With jealousies and fears to bore him.Her smiles to others he resents,Looks to the charges and the rents,Increasing debts, perplexing duns,And nothing for the younger sons.He turned his thoughts to lucre's thirst,And stored until his garners burst:The spectre haunted him the more.Then poverty besieged his door:He feared the burglar and the thief;Nor light nor darkness brought relief.Therefore he turned his thoughts to power,To guard him in the midnight hour.That he achieved—and then the spriteBeleagued him morning, noon, and night.He had no placid hour for rest;Envy and hate his soul depressed,And rivalry, and foe for friend,And footfalls which his steps attend.Therefore he sought a rustic bower—Groves, fields, and fruit-trees, filled each hour;But droughts and rains, and blighting dews,On foot, on horseback, Care pursues.He faced the phantom, and addressed:"Since you must ever be my guest,Let me, as host, perform my due;Go you the first, I'll follow you."FABLE XXXII.The Owls and Sparrow.Twopompous owls together satIn the solemnity of chat:"Respect to wisdom, all is fled;The Grecian sages all are dead.They gave our fathers honour due;The dignity of owls they knew.Upon our merit they conferredThe title of 'The Athenian bird.'""Brother, they did; you reason right,"Answered his chum with winking sight."For Athens was the seat of learning.Academicianswerediscerning.They placed us on Minerva's helm,And strove with rank to overwhelmOur worth, which now is quite neglected,—Ay, a cock-sparrow's more respected."A sparrow who was passing by,And heard the speech, made this reply:"Old chaps, you were at Athens graced,And on Minerva's helm were placed,And we all know the reason why.Of all the birds beneath the sky,They chose you forth the lot to showWhat they desired their schools to know,The emptiness of solemn looks.You teach it better than the books.Would you be thought of wit and worth,And be respected upon earth,Humble your arrogance of mind,Go to the farmers, and there findA welcome—foe to mice and rats.And live the rivals of the cats."FABLE XXXIII.Courtier and Proteus.Thecountry shelters the disgraceOf every courtier out of place:When, doomed to exercise and health,O'er his estate he scatters wealth;There he builds schemes for others' ruin,As Philip's son of old was doing.A wandless one, upon the strand,Wandered with heavy hours on hand:The murmuring waters ran and broke;Proteus arose, and him bespoke:"Come ye from court, I ask? Your mienIs so importantly serene."The courtier answered, friends had tricked him,And that he was a party's victim.Proteus replied: "I hold the skillTo change to any shape at will.But I am told at court there beFellows who more than rival me.Now see a form that I can take:"And Proteus rolled a scaly snake.The man replied: "Of reptile raceIs every courtier, whilst in place.Yes, they can take the dragon form,Bask in the sun, and flee the storm;"With envy glare, with malice gloat,And cast, like you your skin,—their coat!And in a dunghill born and bred,With new-born lustre rear the head."Then Proteus as a lion stood,And shook his mane and stirred the flood;Then soused as waters, soared as fire,Then as a tigress glared with ire."Such transformations might appal,Had I not stood in regal hall.We hunt the lion, utiliseThe elements, without surprise.Such forms indeed are things of prey,And courtiers hunt them, though they bray.They practise frauds in every shape,Or as a lion or an ape."So said, the courtier grasped the god,Bound him with cords, dragged to the sod,And said: "Now tell me, Proteus; tell,Do men or ancient gods excel?For you are bound to tell the truth,Nor are your transformations sooth;But courtiers are not bound by ties;They consort not with truth, but lies;Fix on him any form you willA courtier finds evasion still."FABLE XXXIV.The Mastiff.Thosewho in quarrels interposeMust often wipe a bloody nose.A mastiff of true English moodLoved fighting better than his food.When dogs were snarling o'er a boneHe wished to make their war his own;And often found (where two contend)To interpose, obtained his end:The scars of honour seamed his face;He deemed his limp endued with grace.Once on a time he heard afarTwo dogs contend with noisy jar;Away he scoured to lay about him,Resolved no fray should be without him.Forth from the yard—which was a tanner's—The master rushed to teach him manners;And with the cudgel tanned his hide,And bullied him with words beside.Forth from another yard—a butcher's—The master rushed—his name was Mutchers—"Why, who the deuce are you?" he cried:"Why do you interfere? BanksideHas, at the Bull-pit, seen and known,And Hockleyhole and Marry-bone,That when we go to work we mean it—Why should you come and intervene it?"So said, they dragged the dogs asunder,And kicks and clubs fell down like thunder.And parted now, and freed from danger,The curs beheld the meddling stranger,And where their masters whacked they hurried,And master mastiff he was "worried."FABLE XXXV.Barleymow and Dunghill.Howmany saucy beaux we meet'Twixt Westminster and Aldgate-street!Rascals—the mushrooms of a day,Who sprung and shared the South Sea prey,Nor in their zenith condescendTo own or know the humble friend.A careful farmer took his wayAcross his yard at break of day:He leant a moment o'er the rail,To hear the music of the flail;In his quick eye he viewed his stock,—The geese, the hogs, the fleecy flock.A barleymow there, fat as mutton,Then held her master by the button:"Master, my heart and soul are wrung—tillThey can't abide that dirty dunghill:Master, you know I make your beer—You boast of me at Christmas cheer;Then why insult me and disgrace me,And next to that vile dunghill place me?By Jove! it gives my nose offence:Command the hinds to cart it hence.""You stupid Barleymow," said Dunghill;"You talk about your heart and wrung-ill:Where would you be, I'd like to know,Had I not fed and made you grow?You of October brew brag—pshaw!You would have been a husk of straw.And now, instead of gratitude,You rail in this ungrateful mood."
A hungrywolf had thinned the fold,Safely he refuged on the wold;And, as in den secure he lay,The thefts of night regaled his day.The shepherd's dog, who searched the glen,By chance found the marauder's den.They fought like Trojan and like Greek,Till it fell out they both waxed weak."Wolf," said the dog, "the whilst we rest on,I fain would ask of you a question.""Ask on," the wolf replied; "I'm ready.""Wolf," said the dog, "with soul so steadyAnd limbs so strong, I wonder muchThat you our lambs and ewes should touch.There are the lion and the boarTo bathe your jaws with worthier gore;'Tis cowardly to raid the fold.""Friend," said the wolf, "I pray thee, hold!Nature framed me a beast of prey,And I must eat when, where I may.Now if your bosom burn with zealTo help and aid the bleating-weal,Hence to your lord and master: sayWhat you have said to me; or, stay,Tell him that I snatch, now and then,One sheep for thousands gorged by men.I am their foe, and called a curse,But a pretended friend is worse."
A hungrywolf had thinned the fold,Safely he refuged on the wold;And, as in den secure he lay,The thefts of night regaled his day.The shepherd's dog, who searched the glen,By chance found the marauder's den.They fought like Trojan and like Greek,Till it fell out they both waxed weak.
"Wolf," said the dog, "the whilst we rest on,I fain would ask of you a question."
"Ask on," the wolf replied; "I'm ready."
"Wolf," said the dog, "with soul so steadyAnd limbs so strong, I wonder muchThat you our lambs and ewes should touch.There are the lion and the boarTo bathe your jaws with worthier gore;'Tis cowardly to raid the fold."
"Friend," said the wolf, "I pray thee, hold!Nature framed me a beast of prey,And I must eat when, where I may.Now if your bosom burn with zealTo help and aid the bleating-weal,Hence to your lord and master: sayWhat you have said to me; or, stay,Tell him that I snatch, now and then,One sheep for thousands gorged by men.I am their foe, and called a curse,But a pretended friend is worse."
Lestcaptious men suspect your story,Speak modestly its history.The traveller, who overleaps the boundsOf probability, confounds;But though men hear your deeds with phlegm,You may with flattery cram them.Hyperboles, though ne'er so great,Will yet come short of self-conceit.A painter drew his portraits truly,And marked complexion and mien duly;—Really a fellow knew the picture,There was nor flattery nor delicture.The eyes, and mouth, and faulty nose,Were all showed up in grim repose;He marked the dates of youth and age—But so he lost his clientage:The which determined to recover,He turned in mind the matter over.He bought a pair of busts—one, Venus,The other was Apollo Phœbus;Above his subject client placed them,And for the faulty features traced them.Chatted the while of Titian's tints,Of Guido—Raphael—neither stintsTo raise him to the empyrëal,Whilst he is sketching his ideal.He sketches, utters, "That will do:Be pleased, my lord, to come and view.""I thought my mouth a little wider.""My lord, my lord, you me deride, ah!""Suchwasmy nose when I was young.""My lord, you have a witty tongue.""Ah well, ah well! you artists flatter.""That were, my lord, no easy matter.""Ah well, ah well! you artists see best.""My lord, I only (aside) earn my fee best."So with a lady—he, between us,Borrowed the face and form of Venus.There was no fear of its rejection—Her lover voted it perfection.So on he went to fame and glory,And raised his price—which ends the story;—But not the moral,—which, though fainter,Bids one to scorn an honest painter.
Lestcaptious men suspect your story,Speak modestly its history.The traveller, who overleaps the boundsOf probability, confounds;But though men hear your deeds with phlegm,You may with flattery cram them.Hyperboles, though ne'er so great,Will yet come short of self-conceit.
A painter drew his portraits truly,And marked complexion and mien duly;—Really a fellow knew the picture,There was nor flattery nor delicture.The eyes, and mouth, and faulty nose,Were all showed up in grim repose;He marked the dates of youth and age—But so he lost his clientage:The which determined to recover,He turned in mind the matter over.He bought a pair of busts—one, Venus,The other was Apollo Phœbus;Above his subject client placed them,And for the faulty features traced them.Chatted the while of Titian's tints,Of Guido—Raphael—neither stintsTo raise him to the empyrëal,Whilst he is sketching his ideal.He sketches, utters, "That will do:Be pleased, my lord, to come and view.""I thought my mouth a little wider.""My lord, my lord, you me deride, ah!""Suchwasmy nose when I was young.""My lord, you have a witty tongue.""Ah well, ah well! you artists flatter.""That were, my lord, no easy matter.""Ah well, ah well! you artists see best.""My lord, I only (aside) earn my fee best."
So with a lady—he, between us,Borrowed the face and form of Venus.There was no fear of its rejection—Her lover voted it perfection.So on he went to fame and glory,And raised his price—which ends the story;—But not the moral,—which, though fainter,Bids one to scorn an honest painter.
Allmen are fond of rule and place,Though granted by the mean and base;Yet all superior merit fly,Nor will endure an equal nigh.They o'er some ale-house club presideWith smoke and joke and paltry pride.Nay, e'en with blockheads pass the night;If such can read, to such I write.A lion cub of sordid mindAvoided all the lion-kind,And, greedy of applause, sought feastsWith asses and ignoble beasts;There, as their president appears,An ass in every point, but ears.If he would perpetrate a joke,They brayed applause before he spoke;And when he spoke, with shout they praised,And said he beautifully brayed.Elate with adulation, thenHe sought his father's royal den,And brayed a bray. The lion started,The noble heart within him smarted."You lion cub," he said, "your brayProclaims where you pass night and day,—'Midst coxcombs who, with shameless face,Blush not proclaiming their disgrace.""Father, the club deems very fine,All that conforms with asinine.""My son, what stupid asses prizeLions and nobler brutes despise."
Allmen are fond of rule and place,Though granted by the mean and base;Yet all superior merit fly,Nor will endure an equal nigh.They o'er some ale-house club presideWith smoke and joke and paltry pride.Nay, e'en with blockheads pass the night;If such can read, to such I write.
A lion cub of sordid mindAvoided all the lion-kind,And, greedy of applause, sought feastsWith asses and ignoble beasts;There, as their president appears,An ass in every point, but ears.If he would perpetrate a joke,They brayed applause before he spoke;And when he spoke, with shout they praised,And said he beautifully brayed.
Elate with adulation, thenHe sought his father's royal den,And brayed a bray. The lion started,The noble heart within him smarted."You lion cub," he said, "your brayProclaims where you pass night and day,—'Midst coxcombs who, with shameless face,Blush not proclaiming their disgrace."
"Father, the club deems very fine,All that conforms with asinine."
"My son, what stupid asses prizeLions and nobler brutes despise."
Oncean old hen led forth her broodTo scratch and glean and peck for food;A chick, to give her wings a spell,Fluttered and tumbled in a well.The mother wept till day was done,When she met with a grown-up son,And thus addressed him:—"My dear boy,Your years and vigour give me joy:You thrash all cocks around, I'm told;'Tis right, cocks should be brave and bold:But never—fears I cannot quell—Never, my son, go near that well;A hateful, false, and wretched place,Which is most fatal to my race.Imprint that counsel on your breast,And trust to providence the rest."He thanked the dame's maternal care,And promised never to go near.Yet still he burned to disobey,And hovered round it day by day;And communed thus: "I wonder why?Does mother think my soul is shy?Thinks me a coward? or does sheStore grain in yonder well from me?I'll find that out, and so here goes."So said, he flaps his wings and crows,Mounted the margin, peered below,Where to repel him rose a foe.His choler rose, his plumes upreared—With ruffled plumes the foe appeared.Challenged to fight—he dashed him downUpon the mirrored wave to drown;And drowning uttered: "This conditionComes from my mother's prohibition.Did she forget, or not believe,That I too am a son of Eve?"
Oncean old hen led forth her broodTo scratch and glean and peck for food;A chick, to give her wings a spell,Fluttered and tumbled in a well.The mother wept till day was done,When she met with a grown-up son,And thus addressed him:—"My dear boy,Your years and vigour give me joy:You thrash all cocks around, I'm told;'Tis right, cocks should be brave and bold:But never—fears I cannot quell—Never, my son, go near that well;A hateful, false, and wretched place,Which is most fatal to my race.Imprint that counsel on your breast,And trust to providence the rest."
He thanked the dame's maternal care,And promised never to go near.Yet still he burned to disobey,And hovered round it day by day;And communed thus: "I wonder why?Does mother think my soul is shy?Thinks me a coward? or does sheStore grain in yonder well from me?I'll find that out, and so here goes."So said, he flaps his wings and crows,Mounted the margin, peered below,Where to repel him rose a foe.His choler rose, his plumes upreared—With ruffled plumes the foe appeared.Challenged to fight—he dashed him downUpon the mirrored wave to drown;And drowning uttered: "This conditionComes from my mother's prohibition.Did she forget, or not believe,That I too am a son of Eve?"
Therats by night the mischief did,And Betty every morn was chid.The cheese was nibbled, tarts were taken,And purloined were the eggs and bacon;And Betty cursed the cat, whose dutyWas to protect and guard the booty.A ratcatcher, of well known skill,Was called to kill or scotch the ill;And, as an engineer, surveyedTheir haunts and laid an ambuscade.A cat behold him, and was wrath,Whilst she resolved to cross his path;Not to be beaten by such chaps,She silently removed his traps.Again he set the traps and toils,Again his cunning pussy foils.He set a trap to catch the thief,And pussy she got caught in brief."Ah!" said the rat-catcher, "you scamp,You are the spy within the camp."But the cat said, "A sister spare,Your science is our mutual care.""Science and cats!" the man replied;"We soon that question shall decide;You are my rival interloper,A nasty, sneaking, crouching groper."A sister tabby saw the cord,And interposed a happy word:"In every age and clime we seeTwo of a trade cannot agree;Each deems the other an encroacher,As sportsman thinks another poacher.Beauty with beauty vies in charms,And king with king in warfare's arms:But let us limit our desires,Nor war like beauties, kings, and squires;For though one prey we both pursueThere's prey enough for us and you."
Therats by night the mischief did,And Betty every morn was chid.The cheese was nibbled, tarts were taken,And purloined were the eggs and bacon;And Betty cursed the cat, whose dutyWas to protect and guard the booty.A ratcatcher, of well known skill,Was called to kill or scotch the ill;And, as an engineer, surveyedTheir haunts and laid an ambuscade.A cat behold him, and was wrath,Whilst she resolved to cross his path;Not to be beaten by such chaps,She silently removed his traps.Again he set the traps and toils,Again his cunning pussy foils.He set a trap to catch the thief,And pussy she got caught in brief."Ah!" said the rat-catcher, "you scamp,You are the spy within the camp."But the cat said, "A sister spare,Your science is our mutual care.""Science and cats!" the man replied;"We soon that question shall decide;You are my rival interloper,A nasty, sneaking, crouching groper."
A sister tabby saw the cord,And interposed a happy word:"In every age and clime we seeTwo of a trade cannot agree;Each deems the other an encroacher,As sportsman thinks another poacher.Beauty with beauty vies in charms,And king with king in warfare's arms:But let us limit our desires,Nor war like beauties, kings, and squires;For though one prey we both pursueThere's prey enough for us and you."
'Tisstrange to see a new-launched fashionLay on the soul and grow a passion.To illustrate such folly, IProffer some beast to the mind's eye.Now I select the goat. What then?I never said goats equal men.A goat of singularity—Not vainer than a goat need be—Lay on a thymy bank, and viewedHimself reflected in the flood."Confound my beard!" he thought, and said;"How badly it becomes my head;Upon my honour! women mightTake me to be some crazy wight."He sought the barber of the place,—A monkey 'twas, of Moorish race,Who shaved mankind, drew teeth, and bled.A pole diagonal—striped red,Teeth in their row in order strung,And pewter bason by them slung,Far in the street projecting stood—The pole with bandage symboled blood.Pug shaved our friend and took his penny,And hoped to shave him oft and many;Goatee, impatient of applause,Then sought his native hills and shaws."Heigh-day! how now? whoever heard—What gone and shaven off your beard?"The fop replied: "All realms polite,From Roman to the Muscovite,Now trim their beards and shave their chins;Shall we, like Monkish Capuchins,Alone be singular and hairy?One walks amidst the cities cheery,And men and boys all cease to pokeFun at the beard by way of joke—In days of old, so Romans jeeredStoic philosophers with beard.""Friend," said a bearded chieftain, "youAt Rome may do as Romans do;But if you refuge with our herd,I counsel you to keep your beard:For if you dread the jeers of others,How will you bear it from your brothers?"
'Tisstrange to see a new-launched fashionLay on the soul and grow a passion.To illustrate such folly, IProffer some beast to the mind's eye.Now I select the goat. What then?I never said goats equal men.
A goat of singularity—Not vainer than a goat need be—Lay on a thymy bank, and viewedHimself reflected in the flood."Confound my beard!" he thought, and said;"How badly it becomes my head;Upon my honour! women mightTake me to be some crazy wight."He sought the barber of the place,—A monkey 'twas, of Moorish race,Who shaved mankind, drew teeth, and bled.A pole diagonal—striped red,Teeth in their row in order strung,And pewter bason by them slung,Far in the street projecting stood—The pole with bandage symboled blood.
Pug shaved our friend and took his penny,And hoped to shave him oft and many;Goatee, impatient of applause,Then sought his native hills and shaws."Heigh-day! how now? whoever heard—What gone and shaven off your beard?"
The fop replied: "All realms polite,From Roman to the Muscovite,Now trim their beards and shave their chins;Shall we, like Monkish Capuchins,Alone be singular and hairy?One walks amidst the cities cheery,And men and boys all cease to pokeFun at the beard by way of joke—In days of old, so Romans jeeredStoic philosophers with beard."
"Friend," said a bearded chieftain, "youAt Rome may do as Romans do;But if you refuge with our herd,I counsel you to keep your beard:For if you dread the jeers of others,How will you bear it from your brothers?"
Hewho holds friendship with a knave,Will reputation hardly save;And thus upon our choice of friendsOur good or evil name depends.A wrinkled hag—of naughty fame—Sat hovering o'er a flickering flame,Propped with both hands upon her kneesShe shook with palsy and the breeze.She had perhaps seen fourscore years,And backwards said her daily prayers;Her troop of cats with hunger mewed,—Tabbies and toms, a numerous brood.Teased with their murmuring, out she flewIn angry passion: "Hence, ye crew!—What made me take to keeping cats?Ye are as bad as bawling brats:With brats I might perhaps have grown rich;I never had been thought a known witch.Boys pester me, and strive to awe—Across my path they place a straw;They nail the horse-shoe, hide the broom-stick,Put pins, and every sort of trick.""Dame," said a tabby, "cease your prate,Enough to break a pussy's pate.What is our lot beneath your roof?Within, starvation; out, reproof:Elsewhere we had been honest mousers,And slept, by, fireside carousers.Here we are imps who serve a hag,And yonder broom-stick's thought your nag;Boys hunt us with a doom condign,To take one life out of our nine."
Hewho holds friendship with a knave,Will reputation hardly save;And thus upon our choice of friendsOur good or evil name depends.
A wrinkled hag—of naughty fame—Sat hovering o'er a flickering flame,Propped with both hands upon her kneesShe shook with palsy and the breeze.She had perhaps seen fourscore years,And backwards said her daily prayers;Her troop of cats with hunger mewed,—Tabbies and toms, a numerous brood.Teased with their murmuring, out she flewIn angry passion: "Hence, ye crew!—What made me take to keeping cats?Ye are as bad as bawling brats:With brats I might perhaps have grown rich;I never had been thought a known witch.Boys pester me, and strive to awe—Across my path they place a straw;They nail the horse-shoe, hide the broom-stick,Put pins, and every sort of trick."
"Dame," said a tabby, "cease your prate,Enough to break a pussy's pate.What is our lot beneath your roof?Within, starvation; out, reproof:Elsewhere we had been honest mousers,And slept, by, fireside carousers.Here we are imps who serve a hag,And yonder broom-stick's thought your nag;Boys hunt us with a doom condign,To take one life out of our nine."
Allupstarts, insolent in place,Remind us of their vulgar race.A butterfly, but born one morning,Sat on a rose, the rosebud scorning.His wings of azure, jet, and gold,Were truly glorious to behold;He spread his wings, he sipped the dew,When an old neighbour hove in view—The snail, who left a slimy traceUpon the lawn, his native place."Adam," he to the gard'ner cried,"Behold this fellow by my side;What is the use with daily toilTo war with weeds, to clear the soil,And with keen intermittent labourTo graft and prune for fruit with flavourThe peach and plum, if such as he,Voracious vermin, may make free?Give them the roller or the rake,And crush as you would crush a snake."The snail replied: "Your arroganceAwakes my patience from its trance;Recalls to mind your humble birth,Born from the lowliest thing on earth.Nine times has Phœbus, with the hours,Awakened to new life, new flowers,Since you were a vile crawling thing!Though now endowed with painted wing,You then were vilest of the vile—I was a snail, but housed the while;Was born a snail, and snail shall die;And thou, though now a butterfly,Will leave behind a baneful breedOf caterpillar sons—thy seed."
Allupstarts, insolent in place,Remind us of their vulgar race.
A butterfly, but born one morning,Sat on a rose, the rosebud scorning.His wings of azure, jet, and gold,Were truly glorious to behold;He spread his wings, he sipped the dew,When an old neighbour hove in view—The snail, who left a slimy traceUpon the lawn, his native place.
"Adam," he to the gard'ner cried,"Behold this fellow by my side;What is the use with daily toilTo war with weeds, to clear the soil,And with keen intermittent labourTo graft and prune for fruit with flavourThe peach and plum, if such as he,Voracious vermin, may make free?Give them the roller or the rake,And crush as you would crush a snake."
The snail replied: "Your arroganceAwakes my patience from its trance;Recalls to mind your humble birth,Born from the lowliest thing on earth.Nine times has Phœbus, with the hours,Awakened to new life, new flowers,Since you were a vile crawling thing!Though now endowed with painted wing,You then were vilest of the vile—I was a snail, but housed the while;Was born a snail, and snail shall die;And thou, though now a butterfly,Will leave behind a baneful breedOf caterpillar sons—thy seed."
A husbandsaid unto his wife:"Who deals in slander deals in strife;Are we the heralds of disgrace,To thunder, love, at all our race—And, indiscriminate in rage,To spare nor friend nor sex nor age?Your tongue, love, is a rolling floodThat thundering onwards stirs up mud,And, like to fame and human woes,Progressing, strengthens as it flows.""My husband," so thetonguereplies,"So philosophic and so wise,Am I to be—so wisdom ridden—A parrot's privilege forbidden?You praise his talk—smile at his squallingYet in your wife you deem it brawling:Dear husband, must it still belongTo man to think his wife is wrong?A lesson learnt from nature's schoolTells me to call a fool a fool."But Nature disabused her wordsBy cat and monkey, dog and birds:Puss spat and pug grinned at the scold,The hound slunk off, the magpie told,With repetitions, woman's rage;Whilst poll, haranguing from her cage:"Parrots for prattling words are prized;Woman for prattling words despised.She who attacks another's fameDoes but discredit her own name;Upon her tongues malignant set,And with good interest pay their debt."
A husbandsaid unto his wife:"Who deals in slander deals in strife;Are we the heralds of disgrace,To thunder, love, at all our race—And, indiscriminate in rage,To spare nor friend nor sex nor age?Your tongue, love, is a rolling floodThat thundering onwards stirs up mud,And, like to fame and human woes,Progressing, strengthens as it flows."
"My husband," so thetonguereplies,"So philosophic and so wise,Am I to be—so wisdom ridden—A parrot's privilege forbidden?You praise his talk—smile at his squallingYet in your wife you deem it brawling:Dear husband, must it still belongTo man to think his wife is wrong?A lesson learnt from nature's schoolTells me to call a fool a fool."
But Nature disabused her wordsBy cat and monkey, dog and birds:Puss spat and pug grinned at the scold,The hound slunk off, the magpie told,With repetitions, woman's rage;Whilst poll, haranguing from her cage:"Parrots for prattling words are prized;Woman for prattling words despised.She who attacks another's fameDoes but discredit her own name;Upon her tongues malignant set,And with good interest pay their debt."
A sneakingcur caused much disasterBy pandering scandal for his master.The hound was beaten, mastiff chidden,Puss in disgrace, and pug forbidden.Each of his dearest chum grew shy.And none could tell a reason why.Burglars to rob the house laid wait.Betty in love, undid the gate;The cur was won by dint of meat;Remained the mastiff dog to cheat.The mastiff dog refused the bribe,And tore the hand of one beside.The cur off with the tidings ran,And told how he had bit a man.The master said: "Hanged he shall be!"They dragged poor Trusty to the tree:He met his master, and averredThat he had been condemned unheard.His lord then sat to hear the trial:The mastiff pleaded his denial;The cur then, special pleading, statedThe case—unduly aggravated.When evidence on either sideConcluded was, the dog replied,And ended with this peroration:"Trust not to curs of basest station,With itching palms—a plot is laid,And man and master are betrayed."The mastiff had with truth harangued:The truth appeared; the cur was hanged.
A sneakingcur caused much disasterBy pandering scandal for his master.The hound was beaten, mastiff chidden,Puss in disgrace, and pug forbidden.Each of his dearest chum grew shy.And none could tell a reason why.Burglars to rob the house laid wait.Betty in love, undid the gate;The cur was won by dint of meat;Remained the mastiff dog to cheat.The mastiff dog refused the bribe,And tore the hand of one beside.The cur off with the tidings ran,And told how he had bit a man.The master said: "Hanged he shall be!"They dragged poor Trusty to the tree:He met his master, and averredThat he had been condemned unheard.
His lord then sat to hear the trial:The mastiff pleaded his denial;The cur then, special pleading, statedThe case—unduly aggravated.
When evidence on either sideConcluded was, the dog replied,And ended with this peroration:"Trust not to curs of basest station,With itching palms—a plot is laid,And man and master are betrayed."
The mastiff had with truth harangued:The truth appeared; the cur was hanged.
"Isthere no hope?" the sick man said.The silent doctor shook his head,And took his leave with unfeigned sorrowTo lose a patient on the morrow.When left alone, the dying man"Let me review my life"—began;"My bargains—well, they were well made;'Tis the necessity of trade—Necessity is no transgression.Now for my portion in possession:My lands and my securities,They all are right, in every wise.If justice to myself and heirsHave done some hardships unawares,—Left Smith in jail for debt, or sentThe Browns adrift for unpaid rent,—I've given alms and helped my friends,What I propose will make amends:When I am numbered with the dead,And when my good bequests are read,Then will be seen and then be knownBenevolence I have not shown."The angel, present by his side,Bade him not in such hopes confide:"What deed have you done worthy praise?What orphan blesses, widow prays,To lengthen out your life one year?If you will now add deeds to prayer—Your neighbours want, whilst you abound—Give me a cheque—five hundred pound.""Where is the haste?" the sick man whines;"Who knows—who knows what Heaven designs:That sum, and more, are in my will;Perhaps I may recover still.""Fool!" said the angel: "it is plainThat your great happiness was gain;And after death would fain atoneBy giving what is not your own.""Whilst there is life, there's hope!" he cried;"Then why such haste?"—he spoke, and died.
"Isthere no hope?" the sick man said.The silent doctor shook his head,And took his leave with unfeigned sorrowTo lose a patient on the morrow.When left alone, the dying man"Let me review my life"—began;"My bargains—well, they were well made;'Tis the necessity of trade—Necessity is no transgression.Now for my portion in possession:My lands and my securities,They all are right, in every wise.If justice to myself and heirsHave done some hardships unawares,—Left Smith in jail for debt, or sentThe Browns adrift for unpaid rent,—I've given alms and helped my friends,What I propose will make amends:When I am numbered with the dead,And when my good bequests are read,Then will be seen and then be knownBenevolence I have not shown."
The angel, present by his side,Bade him not in such hopes confide:
"What deed have you done worthy praise?What orphan blesses, widow prays,To lengthen out your life one year?If you will now add deeds to prayer—Your neighbours want, whilst you abound—Give me a cheque—five hundred pound."
"Where is the haste?" the sick man whines;"Who knows—who knows what Heaven designs:That sum, and more, are in my will;Perhaps I may recover still."
"Fool!" said the angel: "it is plainThat your great happiness was gain;And after death would fain atoneBy giving what is not your own.""Whilst there is life, there's hope!" he cried;"Then why such haste?"—he spoke, and died.
Livesthere a bard for genius famedWhom Envy's tongue hath not declaimed?Her hissing snakes proclaim her spite;She summons up the fiends of night;Hatred and malice by her stand,And prompt to do what she command.As prostrate to the orb of dayA Persian, invocating, lay:"Parent of light, whose rays dispenseThe various gifts of Providence,Accept our praise, accept our prayer,Smile on our fields, and bless our year."A cloud passed by—a voice aloud,Like Envy's, issued from that cloud:"I can eclipse your gaudy orb,And every ray you ask absorb.Pray, then, to me—where praise is due—And I will grant the rays to you."The Persian answered in his wrath:"He raised thee to that airy path;A passing wind or puff of airWill hurl thee to thy proper sphere."The gale arose, the cloud was doomed,The golden orb his reign resumed.And as the sun above, so worthScatters the clouds of sons of earth.
Livesthere a bard for genius famedWhom Envy's tongue hath not declaimed?Her hissing snakes proclaim her spite;She summons up the fiends of night;Hatred and malice by her stand,And prompt to do what she command.
As prostrate to the orb of dayA Persian, invocating, lay:
"Parent of light, whose rays dispenseThe various gifts of Providence,Accept our praise, accept our prayer,Smile on our fields, and bless our year."
A cloud passed by—a voice aloud,Like Envy's, issued from that cloud:
"I can eclipse your gaudy orb,And every ray you ask absorb.Pray, then, to me—where praise is due—And I will grant the rays to you."
The Persian answered in his wrath:"He raised thee to that airy path;A passing wind or puff of airWill hurl thee to thy proper sphere."
The gale arose, the cloud was doomed,The golden orb his reign resumed.And as the sun above, so worthScatters the clouds of sons of earth.
A foxwas dying, and he layIn all the weakness of decay.A numerous progeny, with groans,Attended to his feeble tones:"My crimes lie heavy on my soul;My sons, my sons, your raids control!Ah, how the shrieks of murdered fowlEnviron me with stunning howl!"The hungry foxes in a ringLooked round, but saw there no such thing:"This is an ecstasy of brain:We fast, dear sir, and wish in vain.""Gluttons! restrain such wish," repliedThe dying fox; "be such defied;Inordinate desires deplore;The more you win, you grieve the more.Do not the dogs betray our pace,And gins and guns destroy our race?Old age—which few of us attain—Now puts a period to my pain.Would you the good name lost redeem?Live, then, in credit and esteem.""Good counsel, marry!" said a fox;"And quit our mountain-dens and rocks!But if we quit our native place,We bear the name that marks our race;And what our ancestry have doneDescends to us from sire to son.Though we should feed like harmless lambs,We should regarded be as shams;The change would never be believed;A name lost cannot be retrieved."The Sire replied: "Too true; but then—Hark! that's the cackle of a hen.Go, but be moderate, spare the brood:One chicken, one, might do me good."
A foxwas dying, and he layIn all the weakness of decay.A numerous progeny, with groans,Attended to his feeble tones:
"My crimes lie heavy on my soul;My sons, my sons, your raids control!Ah, how the shrieks of murdered fowlEnviron me with stunning howl!"
The hungry foxes in a ringLooked round, but saw there no such thing:"This is an ecstasy of brain:We fast, dear sir, and wish in vain."
"Gluttons! restrain such wish," repliedThe dying fox; "be such defied;Inordinate desires deplore;The more you win, you grieve the more.Do not the dogs betray our pace,And gins and guns destroy our race?Old age—which few of us attain—Now puts a period to my pain.Would you the good name lost redeem?Live, then, in credit and esteem."
"Good counsel, marry!" said a fox;"And quit our mountain-dens and rocks!But if we quit our native place,We bear the name that marks our race;And what our ancestry have doneDescends to us from sire to son.Though we should feed like harmless lambs,We should regarded be as shams;The change would never be believed;A name lost cannot be retrieved."
The Sire replied: "Too true; but then—Hark! that's the cackle of a hen.Go, but be moderate, spare the brood:One chicken, one, might do me good."
Thesetting dog the stubble tried,And snuffed the breeze with nostrils wide;He set—the sportsmen from behind,Conscious of game, the net unwind.A partridge, which as warder stood,Warned, and the covey sought the wood.But, ere she followed from her cover,Thus she discharged her mind on Rover:"Thou fawning slave and sneaking cheat,Subservient unto man's deceit!Disgrace unto thy honest race,Unto the race of dogs disgrace;Who ere to men they bent the kneeWere noted for fidelity."The dog retorted with a sneer:"Since you are safe, enjoy your jeer;Rustic alike in kind and mind,And ignorant of courts refined.Sagacious courtiers do like me,—They rise to high supremacy;I copy them, and I inheritThe high rewards for worth and merit.""I might have known," the partridge said,"The school where you were trained and bred;With a smooth brow for every crisis,Inherent to your master's vices.You came from courts: return! adieu"—And to her covey off she flew.
Thesetting dog the stubble tried,And snuffed the breeze with nostrils wide;He set—the sportsmen from behind,Conscious of game, the net unwind.
A partridge, which as warder stood,Warned, and the covey sought the wood.But, ere she followed from her cover,Thus she discharged her mind on Rover:
"Thou fawning slave and sneaking cheat,Subservient unto man's deceit!Disgrace unto thy honest race,Unto the race of dogs disgrace;Who ere to men they bent the kneeWere noted for fidelity."
The dog retorted with a sneer:"Since you are safe, enjoy your jeer;Rustic alike in kind and mind,And ignorant of courts refined.Sagacious courtiers do like me,—They rise to high supremacy;I copy them, and I inheritThe high rewards for worth and merit."
"I might have known," the partridge said,"The school where you were trained and bred;With a smooth brow for every crisis,Inherent to your master's vices.You came from courts: return! adieu"—And to her covey off she flew.
A rakewho had, by pleasure stuffing,Raked mind and body down to nothing,In wretched vacancy reclined,Enfeebled both in frame and mind.As pain and languor chose to bore him,A ghastly phantom rose before him:"My name is Care. Nor wealth nor powerCan give the heart a cheerful hourDevoid of health—impressed by care.From pleasures fraught with pains, forbear."The phantom fled. The rake abstained,And part of fleeing health retained.Then, to reform, he took a wife,Resolved to live a sober life.Again the phantom stood before him,With jealousies and fears to bore him.Her smiles to others he resents,Looks to the charges and the rents,Increasing debts, perplexing duns,And nothing for the younger sons.He turned his thoughts to lucre's thirst,And stored until his garners burst:The spectre haunted him the more.Then poverty besieged his door:He feared the burglar and the thief;Nor light nor darkness brought relief.Therefore he turned his thoughts to power,To guard him in the midnight hour.That he achieved—and then the spriteBeleagued him morning, noon, and night.He had no placid hour for rest;Envy and hate his soul depressed,And rivalry, and foe for friend,And footfalls which his steps attend.Therefore he sought a rustic bower—Groves, fields, and fruit-trees, filled each hour;But droughts and rains, and blighting dews,On foot, on horseback, Care pursues.He faced the phantom, and addressed:"Since you must ever be my guest,Let me, as host, perform my due;Go you the first, I'll follow you."
A rakewho had, by pleasure stuffing,Raked mind and body down to nothing,In wretched vacancy reclined,Enfeebled both in frame and mind.
As pain and languor chose to bore him,A ghastly phantom rose before him:
"My name is Care. Nor wealth nor powerCan give the heart a cheerful hourDevoid of health—impressed by care.From pleasures fraught with pains, forbear."
The phantom fled. The rake abstained,And part of fleeing health retained.Then, to reform, he took a wife,Resolved to live a sober life.
Again the phantom stood before him,With jealousies and fears to bore him.Her smiles to others he resents,Looks to the charges and the rents,Increasing debts, perplexing duns,And nothing for the younger sons.
He turned his thoughts to lucre's thirst,And stored until his garners burst:The spectre haunted him the more.Then poverty besieged his door:He feared the burglar and the thief;Nor light nor darkness brought relief.
Therefore he turned his thoughts to power,To guard him in the midnight hour.That he achieved—and then the spriteBeleagued him morning, noon, and night.He had no placid hour for rest;Envy and hate his soul depressed,And rivalry, and foe for friend,And footfalls which his steps attend.
Therefore he sought a rustic bower—Groves, fields, and fruit-trees, filled each hour;But droughts and rains, and blighting dews,On foot, on horseback, Care pursues.
He faced the phantom, and addressed:"Since you must ever be my guest,Let me, as host, perform my due;Go you the first, I'll follow you."
Twopompous owls together satIn the solemnity of chat:"Respect to wisdom, all is fled;The Grecian sages all are dead.They gave our fathers honour due;The dignity of owls they knew.Upon our merit they conferredThe title of 'The Athenian bird.'""Brother, they did; you reason right,"Answered his chum with winking sight."For Athens was the seat of learning.Academicianswerediscerning.They placed us on Minerva's helm,And strove with rank to overwhelmOur worth, which now is quite neglected,—Ay, a cock-sparrow's more respected."A sparrow who was passing by,And heard the speech, made this reply:"Old chaps, you were at Athens graced,And on Minerva's helm were placed,And we all know the reason why.Of all the birds beneath the sky,They chose you forth the lot to showWhat they desired their schools to know,The emptiness of solemn looks.You teach it better than the books.Would you be thought of wit and worth,And be respected upon earth,Humble your arrogance of mind,Go to the farmers, and there findA welcome—foe to mice and rats.And live the rivals of the cats."
Twopompous owls together satIn the solemnity of chat:
"Respect to wisdom, all is fled;The Grecian sages all are dead.They gave our fathers honour due;The dignity of owls they knew.Upon our merit they conferredThe title of 'The Athenian bird.'"
"Brother, they did; you reason right,"Answered his chum with winking sight."For Athens was the seat of learning.Academicianswerediscerning.They placed us on Minerva's helm,And strove with rank to overwhelmOur worth, which now is quite neglected,—Ay, a cock-sparrow's more respected."
A sparrow who was passing by,And heard the speech, made this reply:"Old chaps, you were at Athens graced,And on Minerva's helm were placed,And we all know the reason why.Of all the birds beneath the sky,They chose you forth the lot to showWhat they desired their schools to know,The emptiness of solemn looks.You teach it better than the books.Would you be thought of wit and worth,And be respected upon earth,Humble your arrogance of mind,Go to the farmers, and there findA welcome—foe to mice and rats.And live the rivals of the cats."
Thecountry shelters the disgraceOf every courtier out of place:When, doomed to exercise and health,O'er his estate he scatters wealth;There he builds schemes for others' ruin,As Philip's son of old was doing.A wandless one, upon the strand,Wandered with heavy hours on hand:The murmuring waters ran and broke;Proteus arose, and him bespoke:"Come ye from court, I ask? Your mienIs so importantly serene."The courtier answered, friends had tricked him,And that he was a party's victim.Proteus replied: "I hold the skillTo change to any shape at will.But I am told at court there beFellows who more than rival me.Now see a form that I can take:"And Proteus rolled a scaly snake.The man replied: "Of reptile raceIs every courtier, whilst in place.Yes, they can take the dragon form,Bask in the sun, and flee the storm;"With envy glare, with malice gloat,And cast, like you your skin,—their coat!And in a dunghill born and bred,With new-born lustre rear the head."Then Proteus as a lion stood,And shook his mane and stirred the flood;Then soused as waters, soared as fire,Then as a tigress glared with ire."Such transformations might appal,Had I not stood in regal hall.We hunt the lion, utiliseThe elements, without surprise.Such forms indeed are things of prey,And courtiers hunt them, though they bray.They practise frauds in every shape,Or as a lion or an ape."So said, the courtier grasped the god,Bound him with cords, dragged to the sod,And said: "Now tell me, Proteus; tell,Do men or ancient gods excel?For you are bound to tell the truth,Nor are your transformations sooth;But courtiers are not bound by ties;They consort not with truth, but lies;Fix on him any form you willA courtier finds evasion still."
Thecountry shelters the disgraceOf every courtier out of place:When, doomed to exercise and health,O'er his estate he scatters wealth;There he builds schemes for others' ruin,As Philip's son of old was doing.
A wandless one, upon the strand,Wandered with heavy hours on hand:The murmuring waters ran and broke;Proteus arose, and him bespoke:
"Come ye from court, I ask? Your mienIs so importantly serene."
The courtier answered, friends had tricked him,And that he was a party's victim.
Proteus replied: "I hold the skillTo change to any shape at will.But I am told at court there beFellows who more than rival me.Now see a form that I can take:"And Proteus rolled a scaly snake.
The man replied: "Of reptile raceIs every courtier, whilst in place.Yes, they can take the dragon form,Bask in the sun, and flee the storm;"With envy glare, with malice gloat,And cast, like you your skin,—their coat!And in a dunghill born and bred,With new-born lustre rear the head."
Then Proteus as a lion stood,And shook his mane and stirred the flood;Then soused as waters, soared as fire,Then as a tigress glared with ire.
"Such transformations might appal,Had I not stood in regal hall.We hunt the lion, utiliseThe elements, without surprise.Such forms indeed are things of prey,And courtiers hunt them, though they bray.They practise frauds in every shape,Or as a lion or an ape."
So said, the courtier grasped the god,Bound him with cords, dragged to the sod,And said: "Now tell me, Proteus; tell,Do men or ancient gods excel?For you are bound to tell the truth,Nor are your transformations sooth;But courtiers are not bound by ties;They consort not with truth, but lies;Fix on him any form you willA courtier finds evasion still."
Thosewho in quarrels interposeMust often wipe a bloody nose.A mastiff of true English moodLoved fighting better than his food.When dogs were snarling o'er a boneHe wished to make their war his own;And often found (where two contend)To interpose, obtained his end:The scars of honour seamed his face;He deemed his limp endued with grace.Once on a time he heard afarTwo dogs contend with noisy jar;Away he scoured to lay about him,Resolved no fray should be without him.Forth from the yard—which was a tanner's—The master rushed to teach him manners;And with the cudgel tanned his hide,And bullied him with words beside.Forth from another yard—a butcher's—The master rushed—his name was Mutchers—"Why, who the deuce are you?" he cried:"Why do you interfere? BanksideHas, at the Bull-pit, seen and known,And Hockleyhole and Marry-bone,That when we go to work we mean it—Why should you come and intervene it?"So said, they dragged the dogs asunder,And kicks and clubs fell down like thunder.And parted now, and freed from danger,The curs beheld the meddling stranger,And where their masters whacked they hurried,And master mastiff he was "worried."
Thosewho in quarrels interposeMust often wipe a bloody nose.
A mastiff of true English moodLoved fighting better than his food.When dogs were snarling o'er a boneHe wished to make their war his own;And often found (where two contend)To interpose, obtained his end:The scars of honour seamed his face;He deemed his limp endued with grace.
Once on a time he heard afarTwo dogs contend with noisy jar;Away he scoured to lay about him,Resolved no fray should be without him.Forth from the yard—which was a tanner's—The master rushed to teach him manners;And with the cudgel tanned his hide,And bullied him with words beside.Forth from another yard—a butcher's—The master rushed—his name was Mutchers—"Why, who the deuce are you?" he cried:"Why do you interfere? BanksideHas, at the Bull-pit, seen and known,And Hockleyhole and Marry-bone,That when we go to work we mean it—Why should you come and intervene it?"So said, they dragged the dogs asunder,And kicks and clubs fell down like thunder.And parted now, and freed from danger,The curs beheld the meddling stranger,And where their masters whacked they hurried,And master mastiff he was "worried."
Howmany saucy beaux we meet'Twixt Westminster and Aldgate-street!Rascals—the mushrooms of a day,Who sprung and shared the South Sea prey,Nor in their zenith condescendTo own or know the humble friend.A careful farmer took his wayAcross his yard at break of day:He leant a moment o'er the rail,To hear the music of the flail;In his quick eye he viewed his stock,—The geese, the hogs, the fleecy flock.A barleymow there, fat as mutton,Then held her master by the button:"Master, my heart and soul are wrung—tillThey can't abide that dirty dunghill:Master, you know I make your beer—You boast of me at Christmas cheer;Then why insult me and disgrace me,And next to that vile dunghill place me?By Jove! it gives my nose offence:Command the hinds to cart it hence.""You stupid Barleymow," said Dunghill;"You talk about your heart and wrung-ill:Where would you be, I'd like to know,Had I not fed and made you grow?You of October brew brag—pshaw!You would have been a husk of straw.And now, instead of gratitude,You rail in this ungrateful mood."
Howmany saucy beaux we meet'Twixt Westminster and Aldgate-street!Rascals—the mushrooms of a day,Who sprung and shared the South Sea prey,Nor in their zenith condescendTo own or know the humble friend.
A careful farmer took his wayAcross his yard at break of day:He leant a moment o'er the rail,To hear the music of the flail;In his quick eye he viewed his stock,—The geese, the hogs, the fleecy flock.
A barleymow there, fat as mutton,Then held her master by the button:"Master, my heart and soul are wrung—tillThey can't abide that dirty dunghill:Master, you know I make your beer—You boast of me at Christmas cheer;Then why insult me and disgrace me,And next to that vile dunghill place me?By Jove! it gives my nose offence:Command the hinds to cart it hence."
"You stupid Barleymow," said Dunghill;"You talk about your heart and wrung-ill:Where would you be, I'd like to know,Had I not fed and made you grow?You of October brew brag—pshaw!You would have been a husk of straw.And now, instead of gratitude,You rail in this ungrateful mood."