GAY'S FABLES.INTRODUCTION.Remotefrom cities dwelt a swain,Unvexed by petty cares of gain;His head was silvered, and by ageHe had contented grown and sage;In summer's heat and winter's coldHe fed his flock and penned his fold,Devoid of envy or ambition,So had he won a proud position.A deep philosopher, whose rulesOf moral life were drawn from schools,With wonder sought this shepherd's nest,And his perplexity expressed:"Whence is thy wisdom? Hath thy toilO'er books consumed the midnight oil,Communed o'er Greek and Roman pages,With Plato, Socrates—those sages—Or fathomed Tully,—or hast travelledWith wise Ulysses, and unravelledOf customs half a mundane sphere?"The shepherd answered him: "I ne'erFrom books or from mankind sought learning,For both will cheat the most discerning;The more perplexed the more they viewIn the wide fields of false and true."I draw from Nature all I know—To virtue friend, to vice a foe.The ceaseless labour of the beePrompted my soul to industry;The wise provision of the antMade me for winter provident;My trusty dog there showed the way,And to be true I copy Tray.Then for domestic hallowed love,I learnt it of the cooing dove;And love paternal followed, whenI marked devotion in the hen."Nature then prompted me to schoolMy tongue from scorn and ridicule,And never with important mienIn conversation to o'erween.I learnt some lessons from the fowls:To shun solemnity, from owls;Another lesson from the pie,—Pert and pretentious, and as sly;And to detest man's raids and mulctures,From eagles, kites, goshawks, and vultures;But most of all abhorrence takeFrom the base toad or viler snake,With filthy venom in the bite,Of envies, jealousies, and spite.Thus from Dame Nature and CreationHave I deduced my observation;Nor found I ever thing so mean,That gave no moral thence to glean."Then the philosopher replied:"Thy fame, re-echoed far and wide,Is just and true: for books misguide,—As full, as man himself, of pride;But Nature, rightly studied, leadsTo noble thoughts and worthy deeds."TOHIS HIGHNESS WILLIAM DUKE OF CUMBERLAND.FABLE I.Lion, Tiger, and Traveller.Accept, my Prince, the moral fable,To youth ingenuous, profitable.Nobility, like beauty's youth,May seldom hear the voice of truth;Or mark and learn the fact betimesThat flattery is the nurse of crimes.Friendship, which seldom nears a throne,Is by her voice of censure known.To one in your exalted stationA courtier is a dedication;But I dare not to dedicateMy verse e'en unto royal state.My muse is sacred, and must teachTruths which they slur in courtly speech.But I need not to hide the praise,Or veil the thoughts, a nation pays;We in your youth and virtues traceThe dawnings of your royal race;Discern the promptings of your breast,Discern you succour the distrest,Discern your strivings to attainThe heights above the lowly plain.Thence shall Nobility inspireYour bosom with her holy fire;Impressing on your spirit allHer glorious and heroical.A tigress prowling for her preyAssailed a traveller on his way;A passing lion thought no shameTo rob the tigress of her game.They fought: he conquered in the strife;Of him the traveller begged for life.His life the generous lion gave,And him invited to his cave.Arrived, they sat and shared the feast.The lion spoke: he said, "What beastIs strong enough to fight with me?You saw the battle, fair and free.My vassals fear me on my throne:These hills and forests are my own.The lesser tribes of wolf and bearRegard my royal den with fear;Their carcases, on either hand,And bleaching bones now strew the land.""It is so," said the man, "I sawWhat well might baser natures awe;But shall a monarch, like to you,Place glory in so base a view?Robbers invade a neighbour's right,But Love and Justice have more might.O mean and sordid are the boastsOf plundered lands and wasted hosts!Kings should by love and justice reign,Nor be like pirates of the main.Your clemency to me has shownA virtue worthy of a throne:If Heaven has made you great and strong,Use not her gifts to do us wrong."The lion answered: "It is plainThat I have been abused; my reignBy slaves and sophisters beset.But tell me, friend, didst ever yetAttend in human courts? You see,My courtiers say they rule like me."FABLE II.The Spaniel and Chameleon.A spanielmightily well bred,Ne'er taught to labour for his bread,But to play tricks and bear him smart,To please his lady's eyes and heart,Who never had the whip for mischief,But praises from the damsel—his chief.The wind was soft, the morning fair,They issued forth to take the air.He ranged the meadows, where a greenCameleon—green as grass—was seen."Halloa! you chap, who change your coat,What do you rowing in this boat?Why have you left the town? I sayYou're wrong to stroll about this way:Preferment, which your talent crowns,Believe me, friend, is found in towns.""Friend," said the sycophant, "'tis trueOne time I lived in town like you.I was a courtier born and bred,And kings have bent to me the head.I knew each lord and lady's passion,And fostered every vice in fashion.But Jove was wrath—loves not the liar—He sent me here to cool my fire,Retained my nature—but he shapedMy form to suit the thing I aped,And sent me in this shape obscene,To batten in a sylvan scene.How different is your lot and mine!Lo! how you eat, and drink, and dine;Whilst I, condemned to thinnest fare,Like those I flattered, feed on air.Jove punishes what man rewards;—Pray you accept my best regards."FABLE III.Mother, Nurse, and Fairy."Giveme a son, grant me an heir!"The fairies granted her the prayer.And to the partial parent's eyesWas never child so fair and wise;Waked to the morning's pleasing joy,The mother rose and sought her boy.She found the nurse like one possessed,Who wrung her hands and beat her breast."What is the matter, Nurse—this clatter:The boy is well—what is the matter?""What is the matter? Ah! I fearThe dreadful fairy has been here,And changed the baby-boy. She cameInvisible; I'm not to blameShe's changed the baby: here's a creature!—A pug, a monkey, every feature!Where is his mother's mouth and grace?His father's eyes, and nose, and face?""Woman," the mother said, "you're blind:He's wit and beauty all combined.""Lord, Madam! with that horrid leer!—That squint is more than one can bear."But, as she spoke, a pigmy wee soulJumped in head-foremost through the key-hole,Perched on the cradle, and from thenceHarangued with fairy vehemence:"Repair thy wit—repair thy wit!Truly, you are devoid of it.Think you that fairies would change placesWith sons of clay and human races—In one point like to you alone,That we are partial to our own;For neither would a fairy motherExchange her baby for another;But should we change with imps of clay,We should be idiots—like as they."FABLE IV.Jove's Eagle, and Murmuring Beasts.As Joveonce on his judgment-seat,Opened the trap-door at his feet;Up flew the murmurs of creation,Of every brute that had sensation.The Thunderer, therefore, called his Eagle,Which came obedient as a beagle,—And him commanded to descend,And to such murmurs put an end.The eagle did so—citing allTo answer the imperial call.He spoke: "Ye murmurers declareWhat are these ills which trouble air?—Just are the universal laws.Now let the dog first plead his cause.A beagle answered him: "How fleetThe greyhound's course, how nerved his feet!I hunt by scent, by scent alone;That lost, and all my chance has flown."Answered the greyhound: "If I hadThat which he scorns, I should be glad;Had I the hound's sagacious scent,I ne'er had murmured discontent."The lion murmured he had notSly Reynard's wits to lay a plot;Sly Reynard pleaded that, to awe,He should possess the lion's paw.The cock desired the heron's flight;The heron wished for greater might.And fish would feed upon the plain,And beasts would refuge in the main.None their ambitious wish could smother,And each was envious of another.The eagle answered: "Mutineers,The god rejects your idle prayers.But any may exchange who wishes,And chop and change,—birds, beasts, and fishes."The eagle paused; but none consentedTo quit the race they represented,And recognised the restless mindAnd proud ambition of mankind.FABLE V.Wild Boar and Ram.A sheeplay tethered, and her lifeFast ebbing on the butcher's knife;The silly flock looked on with dread.A wild boar, passing them, then said:"O cowards! cowards! will nought makeThe courage of your hearts awake?What, with the butcher in your sight,Flaying—ere life be parted quite—Your lambs and dams! O stolid race!Who ever witnessed souls so base?"The patriarch ram then answered him:"My face and bearing are not grim,But we are not of soul so tameAs to deny Revenge her claim:We have no whetted tusks to kill,Yet are not powerless of ill.Vengeance, the murdering hand pursues,And retribution claims her dues;She sends the plagues of war and law,Where men will battle for a straw—And our revenge may rest contented,Since drums and parchment were invented."FABLE VI.Miser and PlutusThewind was high, the window shook,The miser woke with haggard look;He stalked along the silent room,He shivered at the gleam and gloom,Each lock and every corner eyed,And then he stood his chest beside;He opened it, and stood in raptureIn sight of gold he held in capture;And then, with sudden qualm possessed,He wrung his hands and beat his breast:"O, had the earth concealed this gold,I had perhaps in peace grown old!But there is neither gold nor priceTo recompense the pang of vice.Bane of all good—delusive cheat,To lure a soul on to defeatAnd banish honour from the mind:Gold raised the sword midst kith and kind,Gold fosters each, pernicious artIn which the devils bear a part,—Gold, bane accursed!" In angry moodPlutus, his god, before him stood.The trembling miser slammed the chest."What rant and cant have you expressed,Yon sordid wretch! It is the mind,And not the gold, corrupts mankind.Shall my best medium be accusedBecause its virtues are abused?Virtue and gold alike betrayed,When knaves demand a cloak to trade;So likewise power in their possessionGrows into tyrannous oppression.And in like manner gold may beAbused to vice and villany.But when it flows in virtue's streamsIt blesses like the sun's blest beams—Wiping the tears from widowed eyesAnd soothing bereft orphans' cries.Speak not of misers who have soldTheir soul's integrity for gold—Than bravoes and than cut-throats worse,Who in their calling steal a purse."FABLE VII.Lion, Fox, and Gander.A lion, sick of pomp and state,Resolved his cares to delegate.Reynard was viceroy named—the crowdOf courtiers to the regent bowed;Wolves, bears, and tigers stoop and bend,And strive who most could condescend;Whilst he, with wisdom in his face,Assumed the regal grace and pace.Whilst flattery hovered him around,And the pleased ear in thraldom bound,A fox, well versed in adulation,Rose to pronounce the due oration:"Vast talents, trained in virtue's school,With clemency, from passion cool—And uncorrupted—such a handWill shed abundance o'er the land.The brain shall prompt the wiser part,Mercy and justice rule the heart;All blessings must attend the nationUnder such bright administration."A gander heard and understood,And summoned round his gosling brood:"Whene'er you hear a rogue commended,Be sure some mischief is intended;A fox now spoke in commendation—Foxes no doubt will rise in station;If they hold places, it is plainThe geese will feel a tyrant reign.'Tis a sad prospect for our raceWhen every petty clerk in placeWill follow fashion, and ne'er ceaseOn holidays to feed on geese."FABLE VIII.Lady and Wasp.Whatstupid nonsense must the BeautyEndure in her diurnal duty—Buzzings and whispers from the storesOf the fatuities of bores!Yet such impertinence must be pleasing,Or Beauty would resent such teazing.A flap will drive a fly away,A frown will drive a dog to bay:So if the insects are persistent'Twas Beauty that was inconsistent!And if she does not know herself,Blame not the persecuting elf.It chanced upon a summer dayThat Boris in her boudoir lay—She the last work of God's fair creatures,Contemplated her faultless features.A wasp assailed her so reclined,Bred of a persecuting kind.He now advanced, and now retreated,Till Beauty's neck and face grew heated;She smote him with her fan: she saidWasps were excessively ill bred.But the wasp answered her: "Alas!Before you blame me, view your glass.'Twas beauty caused me to presume;Those cherry lips, that youthful bloom,Allured me from the plums and peachesTo Beauty, which the soul o'erreaches.""Don't hit him, Jenny!" Doris cried:"The race of wasps is much belied;I must recant what I have said,—Wasps are remarkably well bred."Away Sir Sting fled, and went boastingAmongst his fellows—Doris toasting;And as his burgundy he sips,He showed the sugar on his lips.Away the greedy host then gathered,Where they thought dalliance fair was feathered.They fluttered round her, sipped her tea,And lived in quarters fair and free;Nor were they banished, till she foundThat wasps had stings and felt the wound.FABLE IX.The Bull and the Mastiff.Deemyou to train your son and heir,For his preceptor then take care;To sound his mind your cares employ,E'er you commit to him your boy.Once on a time on native plainA bull enjoyed a native reign.A mastiff, stranger there, with ireBeheld the bull, with eyes of fire.The bovine monarch, on his part,Spurned up the dust with dauntless heart,Advised the mastiff to think twice,And asked—if lust or avarice,From which, in main, contention springs,Caused him to break the peace of kings?The mastiff answered him, 'twas glory—To emulate the sons of story;Told him that Cæsar was his sire,And he a prince baptized in fire;That rifles and the mitrailleurHad thrown his bosom in a stir."Accursed cur!" the bull replied,"Delighting in the sanguine tide:If you are Revolution trained,Doubtless your paws with blood are stained—Demons that take delight in slaughter,And pour out human blood as water—Take then thy fate." With goring woundThe monarch tossed him from the groundIn air gyrating—on the stonesHe fell a mass of broken bones.FABLE X.Elephant and Bookseller.Thetraveller whose undaunted soulSails o'er the seas from pole to poleSees many wonders, which becomeSo wonderful they strike one dumb,When we in their description viewMonsters which Adam never knew.Yet, on the other hand, the scepticSupplies his moral antiseptic;Denying unto truths belief,With groans which give his ears relief:But truth is stranger far than fiction,And outlives sceptic contradiction.Read Pliny or old Aldrovandus,If—they would say—you understand us.Let other monsters stand avaunt,And read we of the elephant.As one of these, in days of yore,Rummaged a stall of antique loreOf parchment rolls—not modern binding—He found a roll; the which unwinding,He saw all birds and beasts portrayedWhich Nature's bounteous hand had made,With forms and sentiments, to wit—All by the hand of man down writ.The elephant, with great attention,Remarked upon that great invention:"Man is endowed with reason; beastsAllowed their instinct—that at least:But here's an author owning neither—No reason and no instinct either:He thinks he has all natures known,And yet he does not know his own.Now here's the spaniel—who is drawnThe master spirit sprung to fawn.Pooh, pooh! a courtier in his callingMust fawn more deeply for enthralling.Now there's the fox—his attributeTo plunder—as we say, 'to loot.'Pooh, pooh! a lawyer at that viceWould outfox Reynard in a trice.Then come the wolf and tiger's brood;He bans them for their gust of blood.Pooh, pooh! he bloodier is than they;They slay for hunger—he for pay."A publisher, who heard him speak,And saw him read Parsee and Greek,Thought he had found a prize: "Dear sir,If you against mankind will stir,And write upon the wrongs of Siam,No man is better pay than I am;Or, since 'tis plain that you know true Greek,To make an onslaught on the rubrick."Twisting his trunk up like a wipsy,"Friend," said the elephant, "you're tipsy:Put up your purse again—be wise;Leave man mankind to criticise.Be sure you ne'er will lack a penAmidst the bustling sons of men;For, like to game cocks and such cattle,Authors run unprovoked to battle,And never cease to fight and fray themWhilst there's a publisher to pay them.FABLE XI.The Turkey, Peacock, and Goose.Asspecks appear on fields of snow,So blemishes on beauty show.A peacock fed in a farm-yardWhere all the poultry eyed him hard—They looked on him with evil eye,And mocked his sumptuous pageantry:Proud of the glories he inherited,He sought the praises they well merited.Then, to surprise their dazzled sight,He spread his glories to the light.His glories spread, no sooner seenThan rose their malice and their spleen."Behold his insolence and pride—His haughtiness!" the turkey cried."He trusts in feathers; but withinThey serve to hide his negro skin.""What hideous legs!" exclaimed the goose;"The tail to hide them were of use.And hearken to his voice: it howlsEnough to frighten midnight owls.""Yes, they are blemishes, I own,"Replied the peacock; "harsh the toneIs of my voice—no symmetryIn my poor legs; yet had your eyeBeen pleased to mark my radiant train,You might have spared detraction's vein.For if these shanks which you traduceBelonged to turkey or to goose,Or had the voice still harsher been,They had not been remarked or seen;But Envy, unto beauties blind,Seeks blemishes to soothe her mind."So have we, in the midnight scene,Seen purity with face sereneAwake the clamour of detractionFrom jaundiced Envy's yellow faction.FABLE XII.Cupid, Hymen, and Plutus.As Cupid, with his band of sprites,In Paphian grove set things to rights,And trimmed his bow and tipped his arrows,And taught, to play with Lesbia, sparrows,Thus Hymen said: "Your blindness makes,O Cupid, wonderful mistakes!You send me such ill-coupled folks:It grieves me, now, to give them yokes.An old chap, with his troubles laden,You bind to a light-hearted maiden;Or join incongruous minds together,To squabble for a pin or featherUntil they sue for a divorce;To which the wife assents—of course.""It is your fault, and none of mine,"Cupid replied. "I hearts combine:You trade in settlements and deeds,And care not for the heart that bleeds.You couple them for gold and fee;Complain of Plutus—not of me."Then Plutus added: "What can I do?—The settlement is what they spy to.Say, does Belinda blame her fate?—She only asked a great estate.Doris was rich enough, but humble:She got a title—does she grumble?All men want money—not a shoe-tieCare they for excellence or beauty.Oh all, my boys, is right enough:They got the money—hearts is stuff."FABLE XIII.The Tamed Fawn.A youngstag in the brake was caught,And home with corded antlers brought.The lord was pleased: so was the clown.When he was tipped with half-a-crown.The stag was dragged before his wife;The gentle lady begged its life:"How sleek its skin! how specked like ermine!Sure never creature was more charming."At first within the court confined,He fled and hid from all mankind;Then, bolder grown, with mute amazeHe at safe distance stood to gaze;Then munched the linen on the lines,And off a hood or whimple dines;Then steals my little master's bread,Then followed servants to be fed,Then poked his nose in fists for meat,And though repulsed would not retreat;Thrusts at them with his levelled horns,And man, that was his terror, scorns.How like unto the country maid,Who of a red-coat, first, afraidWill hide behind the door, to traceThe magic of the martial lace;But soon before the door will stand,Return the jest and strike the hand;Then hangs with pride upon his arm,—For gallant soldiers bear a charm,—Then seeks to spread her conquering fame,For custom conquers fear and shame.FABLE XIV.The Monkey who had seen the World.A monkey, to reform the times,Resolved to visit foreign climes;For therefore toilsomely we roamTo bring politer manners home.Misfortunes serve to make us wise:Poor pug was caught, and made a prize;Sold was he, and by happy doomBought to cheer up a lady's gloom.Proud as a lover of his chainsHis way he wins, his post maintains—He twirled her knots and cracked her fan,Like any other gentleman.When jests grew dull he showed his wit,And many a lounger hit with it.When he had fully stored his mind—As Orpheus once for human kind,—So he away would homewards steal,To civilize the monkey weal.The hirsute sylvans round him pressed,Astonished to behold him dressed.They praise his sleeve and coat, and hailHis dapper periwig and tail;His powdered back, like snow, admired,And all his shoulder-knot desired."Now mark and learn: from foreign skiesI come, to make a people wise.Weigh your own worth, assert your place,—The next in rank to human race.In cities long I passed my days,Conversed with man and learnt his ways;Their dress and courtly manners see—Reform your state and be like me."Ye who to thrive in flattery deal,Must learn your passions to conceal;And likewise to regard your friendsAs creatures sent to serve your ends.Be prompt to lie: there is no witIn telling truth, to lose by it.And knock down worth, bespatter merit:Don't stint—all will your scandal credit.Be bumptious, bully, swear, and fight—And all will own the man polite."He grinned and bowed. With muttering jawsHis pugnosed brothers grinned applause,And, fond to copy human ways,Practise new mischiefs all their days.Thus the dull lad too big to rule,With travel finishes his school;Soars to the heights of foreign vices,And copies—reckless what their price is.FABLE XV.Philosopher and Pheasant.A sageawakened by the dawn,By music of the groves was drawnFrom tree to tree: responsive notesArose from many warbling throats.As he advanced, the warblers ceased;Silent the bird and scared the beast—The nightingale then ceased her lay,And the scared leveret ran away.The sage then pondered, and his eyeRoamed round to learn the reason why.He marked a pheasant, as she stoodUpon a bank, above her brood;With pride maternal beat her breastAs she harangued and led from nest:"Play on, my infant brood—this glenIs free from bad marauding men.O trust the hawk, and trust the kite,Sooner than man—detested wight!Ingratitude sticks to his mind,—A vice inherent to the kind.The sheep, that clothes him with her wool,Dies at the shambles—butcher's school;The honey-bees with waxen combsAre slain by hives and hecatombs;And the sagacious goose, who givesThe plume whereby he writes and lives,And as a guerdon for its useHe cuts the quill and eats the goose.Avoid the monster: where he roamsHe desolates our raided homes;And where such acts and deeds are boasted,I hear we pheasants all are roasted."FABLE XVI.Pin and Needle.A pinwhich long had done its duty,Attendant on a reigning beauty,—Had held her muffler, fixed her hair,And made its mistressdebonnaire,—Now near her heart in honour placed,Now banished to the rear disgraced;From whence, as partners of her shame,She saw the lovers served the same.From whence, thro' various turns of life,She saw its comforts and its strife:With tailors warm, with beggars cold,Or clutched within a miser's hold.His maxim racked her wearied ear:"A pin a day's a groat a year."Restored to freedom by the proctor,She paid some visits with a doctor;She pinned a bandage that was crossed,And thence, at Gresham Hall, was lost.Charmed with its wonders, she admires,And now of this, now that inquires—'Twas plain, in noticing her mind,She was of virtuoso kind."What's this thing in this box, dear sir?""A needle," said the interpreter."A needle shut up in a box?Good gracious me, why sure it locks!And why is it beside that flint?I could give her now a good hint:If she were handed to a sempstress,She would hem more and she would clem less.""Pin!" said the needle, "cease to blunder:Stupid alike your hints and wonder.This is a loadstone, and its virtue—Though insufficient to convert you—Makes me a magnet; and afarTrue am I to my polar star.The pilot leaves the doubtful skies,And trusts to me with watchful eyes;By me the distant world is known,And both the Indies made our own.I am the friend and guide of sailors,And you of sempstresses and tailors."
Remotefrom cities dwelt a swain,Unvexed by petty cares of gain;His head was silvered, and by ageHe had contented grown and sage;In summer's heat and winter's coldHe fed his flock and penned his fold,Devoid of envy or ambition,So had he won a proud position.A deep philosopher, whose rulesOf moral life were drawn from schools,With wonder sought this shepherd's nest,And his perplexity expressed:"Whence is thy wisdom? Hath thy toilO'er books consumed the midnight oil,Communed o'er Greek and Roman pages,With Plato, Socrates—those sages—Or fathomed Tully,—or hast travelledWith wise Ulysses, and unravelledOf customs half a mundane sphere?"The shepherd answered him: "I ne'erFrom books or from mankind sought learning,For both will cheat the most discerning;The more perplexed the more they viewIn the wide fields of false and true."I draw from Nature all I know—To virtue friend, to vice a foe.The ceaseless labour of the beePrompted my soul to industry;The wise provision of the antMade me for winter provident;My trusty dog there showed the way,And to be true I copy Tray.Then for domestic hallowed love,I learnt it of the cooing dove;And love paternal followed, whenI marked devotion in the hen."Nature then prompted me to schoolMy tongue from scorn and ridicule,And never with important mienIn conversation to o'erween.I learnt some lessons from the fowls:To shun solemnity, from owls;Another lesson from the pie,—Pert and pretentious, and as sly;And to detest man's raids and mulctures,From eagles, kites, goshawks, and vultures;But most of all abhorrence takeFrom the base toad or viler snake,With filthy venom in the bite,Of envies, jealousies, and spite.Thus from Dame Nature and CreationHave I deduced my observation;Nor found I ever thing so mean,That gave no moral thence to glean."Then the philosopher replied:"Thy fame, re-echoed far and wide,Is just and true: for books misguide,—As full, as man himself, of pride;But Nature, rightly studied, leadsTo noble thoughts and worthy deeds."
Remotefrom cities dwelt a swain,Unvexed by petty cares of gain;His head was silvered, and by ageHe had contented grown and sage;In summer's heat and winter's coldHe fed his flock and penned his fold,Devoid of envy or ambition,So had he won a proud position.
A deep philosopher, whose rulesOf moral life were drawn from schools,With wonder sought this shepherd's nest,And his perplexity expressed:
"Whence is thy wisdom? Hath thy toilO'er books consumed the midnight oil,Communed o'er Greek and Roman pages,With Plato, Socrates—those sages—Or fathomed Tully,—or hast travelledWith wise Ulysses, and unravelledOf customs half a mundane sphere?"
The shepherd answered him: "I ne'erFrom books or from mankind sought learning,For both will cheat the most discerning;The more perplexed the more they viewIn the wide fields of false and true.
"I draw from Nature all I know—To virtue friend, to vice a foe.The ceaseless labour of the beePrompted my soul to industry;The wise provision of the antMade me for winter provident;My trusty dog there showed the way,And to be true I copy Tray.Then for domestic hallowed love,I learnt it of the cooing dove;And love paternal followed, whenI marked devotion in the hen.
"Nature then prompted me to schoolMy tongue from scorn and ridicule,And never with important mienIn conversation to o'erween.I learnt some lessons from the fowls:To shun solemnity, from owls;Another lesson from the pie,—Pert and pretentious, and as sly;And to detest man's raids and mulctures,From eagles, kites, goshawks, and vultures;But most of all abhorrence takeFrom the base toad or viler snake,With filthy venom in the bite,Of envies, jealousies, and spite.Thus from Dame Nature and CreationHave I deduced my observation;Nor found I ever thing so mean,That gave no moral thence to glean."
Then the philosopher replied:"Thy fame, re-echoed far and wide,Is just and true: for books misguide,—As full, as man himself, of pride;But Nature, rightly studied, leadsTo noble thoughts and worthy deeds."
Accept, my Prince, the moral fable,To youth ingenuous, profitable.Nobility, like beauty's youth,May seldom hear the voice of truth;Or mark and learn the fact betimesThat flattery is the nurse of crimes.Friendship, which seldom nears a throne,Is by her voice of censure known.To one in your exalted stationA courtier is a dedication;But I dare not to dedicateMy verse e'en unto royal state.My muse is sacred, and must teachTruths which they slur in courtly speech.But I need not to hide the praise,Or veil the thoughts, a nation pays;We in your youth and virtues traceThe dawnings of your royal race;Discern the promptings of your breast,Discern you succour the distrest,Discern your strivings to attainThe heights above the lowly plain.Thence shall Nobility inspireYour bosom with her holy fire;Impressing on your spirit allHer glorious and heroical.
Accept, my Prince, the moral fable,To youth ingenuous, profitable.Nobility, like beauty's youth,May seldom hear the voice of truth;Or mark and learn the fact betimesThat flattery is the nurse of crimes.Friendship, which seldom nears a throne,Is by her voice of censure known.To one in your exalted stationA courtier is a dedication;But I dare not to dedicateMy verse e'en unto royal state.My muse is sacred, and must teachTruths which they slur in courtly speech.But I need not to hide the praise,Or veil the thoughts, a nation pays;We in your youth and virtues traceThe dawnings of your royal race;Discern the promptings of your breast,Discern you succour the distrest,Discern your strivings to attainThe heights above the lowly plain.Thence shall Nobility inspireYour bosom with her holy fire;Impressing on your spirit allHer glorious and heroical.
A tigress prowling for her preyAssailed a traveller on his way;A passing lion thought no shameTo rob the tigress of her game.They fought: he conquered in the strife;Of him the traveller begged for life.His life the generous lion gave,And him invited to his cave.Arrived, they sat and shared the feast.The lion spoke: he said, "What beastIs strong enough to fight with me?You saw the battle, fair and free.My vassals fear me on my throne:These hills and forests are my own.The lesser tribes of wolf and bearRegard my royal den with fear;Their carcases, on either hand,And bleaching bones now strew the land.""It is so," said the man, "I sawWhat well might baser natures awe;But shall a monarch, like to you,Place glory in so base a view?Robbers invade a neighbour's right,But Love and Justice have more might.O mean and sordid are the boastsOf plundered lands and wasted hosts!Kings should by love and justice reign,Nor be like pirates of the main.Your clemency to me has shownA virtue worthy of a throne:If Heaven has made you great and strong,Use not her gifts to do us wrong."The lion answered: "It is plainThat I have been abused; my reignBy slaves and sophisters beset.But tell me, friend, didst ever yetAttend in human courts? You see,My courtiers say they rule like me."
A tigress prowling for her preyAssailed a traveller on his way;A passing lion thought no shameTo rob the tigress of her game.They fought: he conquered in the strife;Of him the traveller begged for life.His life the generous lion gave,And him invited to his cave.Arrived, they sat and shared the feast.
The lion spoke: he said, "What beastIs strong enough to fight with me?You saw the battle, fair and free.My vassals fear me on my throne:These hills and forests are my own.The lesser tribes of wolf and bearRegard my royal den with fear;Their carcases, on either hand,And bleaching bones now strew the land."
"It is so," said the man, "I sawWhat well might baser natures awe;But shall a monarch, like to you,Place glory in so base a view?Robbers invade a neighbour's right,But Love and Justice have more might.O mean and sordid are the boastsOf plundered lands and wasted hosts!Kings should by love and justice reign,Nor be like pirates of the main.Your clemency to me has shownA virtue worthy of a throne:If Heaven has made you great and strong,Use not her gifts to do us wrong."
The lion answered: "It is plainThat I have been abused; my reignBy slaves and sophisters beset.But tell me, friend, didst ever yetAttend in human courts? You see,My courtiers say they rule like me."
A spanielmightily well bred,Ne'er taught to labour for his bread,But to play tricks and bear him smart,To please his lady's eyes and heart,Who never had the whip for mischief,But praises from the damsel—his chief.The wind was soft, the morning fair,They issued forth to take the air.He ranged the meadows, where a greenCameleon—green as grass—was seen."Halloa! you chap, who change your coat,What do you rowing in this boat?Why have you left the town? I sayYou're wrong to stroll about this way:Preferment, which your talent crowns,Believe me, friend, is found in towns.""Friend," said the sycophant, "'tis trueOne time I lived in town like you.I was a courtier born and bred,And kings have bent to me the head.I knew each lord and lady's passion,And fostered every vice in fashion.But Jove was wrath—loves not the liar—He sent me here to cool my fire,Retained my nature—but he shapedMy form to suit the thing I aped,And sent me in this shape obscene,To batten in a sylvan scene.How different is your lot and mine!Lo! how you eat, and drink, and dine;Whilst I, condemned to thinnest fare,Like those I flattered, feed on air.Jove punishes what man rewards;—Pray you accept my best regards."
A spanielmightily well bred,Ne'er taught to labour for his bread,But to play tricks and bear him smart,To please his lady's eyes and heart,Who never had the whip for mischief,But praises from the damsel—his chief.
The wind was soft, the morning fair,They issued forth to take the air.He ranged the meadows, where a greenCameleon—green as grass—was seen.
"Halloa! you chap, who change your coat,What do you rowing in this boat?Why have you left the town? I sayYou're wrong to stroll about this way:Preferment, which your talent crowns,Believe me, friend, is found in towns."
"Friend," said the sycophant, "'tis trueOne time I lived in town like you.I was a courtier born and bred,And kings have bent to me the head.I knew each lord and lady's passion,And fostered every vice in fashion.But Jove was wrath—loves not the liar—He sent me here to cool my fire,Retained my nature—but he shapedMy form to suit the thing I aped,And sent me in this shape obscene,To batten in a sylvan scene.How different is your lot and mine!Lo! how you eat, and drink, and dine;Whilst I, condemned to thinnest fare,Like those I flattered, feed on air.Jove punishes what man rewards;—Pray you accept my best regards."
"Giveme a son, grant me an heir!"The fairies granted her the prayer.And to the partial parent's eyesWas never child so fair and wise;Waked to the morning's pleasing joy,The mother rose and sought her boy.She found the nurse like one possessed,Who wrung her hands and beat her breast."What is the matter, Nurse—this clatter:The boy is well—what is the matter?""What is the matter? Ah! I fearThe dreadful fairy has been here,And changed the baby-boy. She cameInvisible; I'm not to blameShe's changed the baby: here's a creature!—A pug, a monkey, every feature!Where is his mother's mouth and grace?His father's eyes, and nose, and face?""Woman," the mother said, "you're blind:He's wit and beauty all combined.""Lord, Madam! with that horrid leer!—That squint is more than one can bear."But, as she spoke, a pigmy wee soulJumped in head-foremost through the key-hole,Perched on the cradle, and from thenceHarangued with fairy vehemence:"Repair thy wit—repair thy wit!Truly, you are devoid of it.Think you that fairies would change placesWith sons of clay and human races—In one point like to you alone,That we are partial to our own;For neither would a fairy motherExchange her baby for another;But should we change with imps of clay,We should be idiots—like as they."
"Giveme a son, grant me an heir!"The fairies granted her the prayer.And to the partial parent's eyesWas never child so fair and wise;Waked to the morning's pleasing joy,The mother rose and sought her boy.She found the nurse like one possessed,Who wrung her hands and beat her breast."What is the matter, Nurse—this clatter:The boy is well—what is the matter?"
"What is the matter? Ah! I fearThe dreadful fairy has been here,And changed the baby-boy. She cameInvisible; I'm not to blameShe's changed the baby: here's a creature!—A pug, a monkey, every feature!Where is his mother's mouth and grace?His father's eyes, and nose, and face?"
"Woman," the mother said, "you're blind:He's wit and beauty all combined."
"Lord, Madam! with that horrid leer!—That squint is more than one can bear."
But, as she spoke, a pigmy wee soulJumped in head-foremost through the key-hole,Perched on the cradle, and from thenceHarangued with fairy vehemence:
"Repair thy wit—repair thy wit!Truly, you are devoid of it.Think you that fairies would change placesWith sons of clay and human races—In one point like to you alone,That we are partial to our own;For neither would a fairy motherExchange her baby for another;But should we change with imps of clay,We should be idiots—like as they."
As Joveonce on his judgment-seat,Opened the trap-door at his feet;Up flew the murmurs of creation,Of every brute that had sensation.The Thunderer, therefore, called his Eagle,Which came obedient as a beagle,—And him commanded to descend,And to such murmurs put an end.The eagle did so—citing allTo answer the imperial call.He spoke: "Ye murmurers declareWhat are these ills which trouble air?—Just are the universal laws.Now let the dog first plead his cause.A beagle answered him: "How fleetThe greyhound's course, how nerved his feet!I hunt by scent, by scent alone;That lost, and all my chance has flown."Answered the greyhound: "If I hadThat which he scorns, I should be glad;Had I the hound's sagacious scent,I ne'er had murmured discontent."The lion murmured he had notSly Reynard's wits to lay a plot;Sly Reynard pleaded that, to awe,He should possess the lion's paw.The cock desired the heron's flight;The heron wished for greater might.And fish would feed upon the plain,And beasts would refuge in the main.None their ambitious wish could smother,And each was envious of another.The eagle answered: "Mutineers,The god rejects your idle prayers.But any may exchange who wishes,And chop and change,—birds, beasts, and fishes."The eagle paused; but none consentedTo quit the race they represented,And recognised the restless mindAnd proud ambition of mankind.
As Joveonce on his judgment-seat,Opened the trap-door at his feet;Up flew the murmurs of creation,Of every brute that had sensation.The Thunderer, therefore, called his Eagle,Which came obedient as a beagle,—And him commanded to descend,And to such murmurs put an end.The eagle did so—citing allTo answer the imperial call.
He spoke: "Ye murmurers declareWhat are these ills which trouble air?—Just are the universal laws.Now let the dog first plead his cause.
A beagle answered him: "How fleetThe greyhound's course, how nerved his feet!I hunt by scent, by scent alone;That lost, and all my chance has flown."
Answered the greyhound: "If I hadThat which he scorns, I should be glad;Had I the hound's sagacious scent,I ne'er had murmured discontent."
The lion murmured he had notSly Reynard's wits to lay a plot;Sly Reynard pleaded that, to awe,He should possess the lion's paw.The cock desired the heron's flight;The heron wished for greater might.And fish would feed upon the plain,And beasts would refuge in the main.None their ambitious wish could smother,And each was envious of another.
The eagle answered: "Mutineers,The god rejects your idle prayers.But any may exchange who wishes,And chop and change,—birds, beasts, and fishes."The eagle paused; but none consentedTo quit the race they represented,And recognised the restless mindAnd proud ambition of mankind.
A sheeplay tethered, and her lifeFast ebbing on the butcher's knife;The silly flock looked on with dread.A wild boar, passing them, then said:"O cowards! cowards! will nought makeThe courage of your hearts awake?What, with the butcher in your sight,Flaying—ere life be parted quite—Your lambs and dams! O stolid race!Who ever witnessed souls so base?"The patriarch ram then answered him:"My face and bearing are not grim,But we are not of soul so tameAs to deny Revenge her claim:We have no whetted tusks to kill,Yet are not powerless of ill.Vengeance, the murdering hand pursues,And retribution claims her dues;She sends the plagues of war and law,Where men will battle for a straw—And our revenge may rest contented,Since drums and parchment were invented."
A sheeplay tethered, and her lifeFast ebbing on the butcher's knife;The silly flock looked on with dread.A wild boar, passing them, then said:"O cowards! cowards! will nought makeThe courage of your hearts awake?What, with the butcher in your sight,Flaying—ere life be parted quite—Your lambs and dams! O stolid race!Who ever witnessed souls so base?"
The patriarch ram then answered him:"My face and bearing are not grim,But we are not of soul so tameAs to deny Revenge her claim:We have no whetted tusks to kill,Yet are not powerless of ill.Vengeance, the murdering hand pursues,And retribution claims her dues;She sends the plagues of war and law,Where men will battle for a straw—And our revenge may rest contented,Since drums and parchment were invented."
Thewind was high, the window shook,The miser woke with haggard look;He stalked along the silent room,He shivered at the gleam and gloom,Each lock and every corner eyed,And then he stood his chest beside;He opened it, and stood in raptureIn sight of gold he held in capture;And then, with sudden qualm possessed,He wrung his hands and beat his breast:"O, had the earth concealed this gold,I had perhaps in peace grown old!But there is neither gold nor priceTo recompense the pang of vice.Bane of all good—delusive cheat,To lure a soul on to defeatAnd banish honour from the mind:Gold raised the sword midst kith and kind,Gold fosters each, pernicious artIn which the devils bear a part,—Gold, bane accursed!" In angry moodPlutus, his god, before him stood.The trembling miser slammed the chest."What rant and cant have you expressed,Yon sordid wretch! It is the mind,And not the gold, corrupts mankind.Shall my best medium be accusedBecause its virtues are abused?Virtue and gold alike betrayed,When knaves demand a cloak to trade;So likewise power in their possessionGrows into tyrannous oppression.And in like manner gold may beAbused to vice and villany.But when it flows in virtue's streamsIt blesses like the sun's blest beams—Wiping the tears from widowed eyesAnd soothing bereft orphans' cries.Speak not of misers who have soldTheir soul's integrity for gold—Than bravoes and than cut-throats worse,Who in their calling steal a purse."
Thewind was high, the window shook,The miser woke with haggard look;He stalked along the silent room,He shivered at the gleam and gloom,Each lock and every corner eyed,And then he stood his chest beside;He opened it, and stood in raptureIn sight of gold he held in capture;And then, with sudden qualm possessed,He wrung his hands and beat his breast:"O, had the earth concealed this gold,I had perhaps in peace grown old!But there is neither gold nor priceTo recompense the pang of vice.Bane of all good—delusive cheat,To lure a soul on to defeatAnd banish honour from the mind:Gold raised the sword midst kith and kind,Gold fosters each, pernicious artIn which the devils bear a part,—Gold, bane accursed!" In angry moodPlutus, his god, before him stood.The trembling miser slammed the chest.
"What rant and cant have you expressed,Yon sordid wretch! It is the mind,And not the gold, corrupts mankind.Shall my best medium be accusedBecause its virtues are abused?Virtue and gold alike betrayed,When knaves demand a cloak to trade;So likewise power in their possessionGrows into tyrannous oppression.And in like manner gold may beAbused to vice and villany.But when it flows in virtue's streamsIt blesses like the sun's blest beams—Wiping the tears from widowed eyesAnd soothing bereft orphans' cries.Speak not of misers who have soldTheir soul's integrity for gold—Than bravoes and than cut-throats worse,Who in their calling steal a purse."
A lion, sick of pomp and state,Resolved his cares to delegate.Reynard was viceroy named—the crowdOf courtiers to the regent bowed;Wolves, bears, and tigers stoop and bend,And strive who most could condescend;Whilst he, with wisdom in his face,Assumed the regal grace and pace.Whilst flattery hovered him around,And the pleased ear in thraldom bound,A fox, well versed in adulation,Rose to pronounce the due oration:"Vast talents, trained in virtue's school,With clemency, from passion cool—And uncorrupted—such a handWill shed abundance o'er the land.The brain shall prompt the wiser part,Mercy and justice rule the heart;All blessings must attend the nationUnder such bright administration."A gander heard and understood,And summoned round his gosling brood:"Whene'er you hear a rogue commended,Be sure some mischief is intended;A fox now spoke in commendation—Foxes no doubt will rise in station;If they hold places, it is plainThe geese will feel a tyrant reign.'Tis a sad prospect for our raceWhen every petty clerk in placeWill follow fashion, and ne'er ceaseOn holidays to feed on geese."
A lion, sick of pomp and state,Resolved his cares to delegate.Reynard was viceroy named—the crowdOf courtiers to the regent bowed;Wolves, bears, and tigers stoop and bend,And strive who most could condescend;Whilst he, with wisdom in his face,Assumed the regal grace and pace.Whilst flattery hovered him around,And the pleased ear in thraldom bound,A fox, well versed in adulation,Rose to pronounce the due oration:
"Vast talents, trained in virtue's school,With clemency, from passion cool—And uncorrupted—such a handWill shed abundance o'er the land.The brain shall prompt the wiser part,Mercy and justice rule the heart;All blessings must attend the nationUnder such bright administration."
A gander heard and understood,And summoned round his gosling brood:"Whene'er you hear a rogue commended,Be sure some mischief is intended;A fox now spoke in commendation—Foxes no doubt will rise in station;If they hold places, it is plainThe geese will feel a tyrant reign.'Tis a sad prospect for our raceWhen every petty clerk in placeWill follow fashion, and ne'er ceaseOn holidays to feed on geese."
Whatstupid nonsense must the BeautyEndure in her diurnal duty—Buzzings and whispers from the storesOf the fatuities of bores!Yet such impertinence must be pleasing,Or Beauty would resent such teazing.A flap will drive a fly away,A frown will drive a dog to bay:So if the insects are persistent'Twas Beauty that was inconsistent!And if she does not know herself,Blame not the persecuting elf.It chanced upon a summer dayThat Boris in her boudoir lay—She the last work of God's fair creatures,Contemplated her faultless features.A wasp assailed her so reclined,Bred of a persecuting kind.He now advanced, and now retreated,Till Beauty's neck and face grew heated;She smote him with her fan: she saidWasps were excessively ill bred.But the wasp answered her: "Alas!Before you blame me, view your glass.'Twas beauty caused me to presume;Those cherry lips, that youthful bloom,Allured me from the plums and peachesTo Beauty, which the soul o'erreaches.""Don't hit him, Jenny!" Doris cried:"The race of wasps is much belied;I must recant what I have said,—Wasps are remarkably well bred."Away Sir Sting fled, and went boastingAmongst his fellows—Doris toasting;And as his burgundy he sips,He showed the sugar on his lips.Away the greedy host then gathered,Where they thought dalliance fair was feathered.They fluttered round her, sipped her tea,And lived in quarters fair and free;Nor were they banished, till she foundThat wasps had stings and felt the wound.
Whatstupid nonsense must the BeautyEndure in her diurnal duty—Buzzings and whispers from the storesOf the fatuities of bores!Yet such impertinence must be pleasing,Or Beauty would resent such teazing.A flap will drive a fly away,A frown will drive a dog to bay:So if the insects are persistent'Twas Beauty that was inconsistent!And if she does not know herself,Blame not the persecuting elf.
It chanced upon a summer dayThat Boris in her boudoir lay—She the last work of God's fair creatures,Contemplated her faultless features.A wasp assailed her so reclined,Bred of a persecuting kind.He now advanced, and now retreated,Till Beauty's neck and face grew heated;She smote him with her fan: she saidWasps were excessively ill bred.But the wasp answered her: "Alas!Before you blame me, view your glass.'Twas beauty caused me to presume;Those cherry lips, that youthful bloom,Allured me from the plums and peachesTo Beauty, which the soul o'erreaches."
"Don't hit him, Jenny!" Doris cried:"The race of wasps is much belied;I must recant what I have said,—Wasps are remarkably well bred."
Away Sir Sting fled, and went boastingAmongst his fellows—Doris toasting;And as his burgundy he sips,He showed the sugar on his lips.Away the greedy host then gathered,Where they thought dalliance fair was feathered.They fluttered round her, sipped her tea,And lived in quarters fair and free;Nor were they banished, till she foundThat wasps had stings and felt the wound.
Deemyou to train your son and heir,For his preceptor then take care;To sound his mind your cares employ,E'er you commit to him your boy.Once on a time on native plainA bull enjoyed a native reign.A mastiff, stranger there, with ireBeheld the bull, with eyes of fire.The bovine monarch, on his part,Spurned up the dust with dauntless heart,Advised the mastiff to think twice,And asked—if lust or avarice,From which, in main, contention springs,Caused him to break the peace of kings?The mastiff answered him, 'twas glory—To emulate the sons of story;Told him that Cæsar was his sire,And he a prince baptized in fire;That rifles and the mitrailleurHad thrown his bosom in a stir."Accursed cur!" the bull replied,"Delighting in the sanguine tide:If you are Revolution trained,Doubtless your paws with blood are stained—Demons that take delight in slaughter,And pour out human blood as water—Take then thy fate." With goring woundThe monarch tossed him from the groundIn air gyrating—on the stonesHe fell a mass of broken bones.
Deemyou to train your son and heir,For his preceptor then take care;To sound his mind your cares employ,E'er you commit to him your boy.Once on a time on native plainA bull enjoyed a native reign.A mastiff, stranger there, with ireBeheld the bull, with eyes of fire.The bovine monarch, on his part,Spurned up the dust with dauntless heart,Advised the mastiff to think twice,And asked—if lust or avarice,From which, in main, contention springs,Caused him to break the peace of kings?The mastiff answered him, 'twas glory—To emulate the sons of story;Told him that Cæsar was his sire,And he a prince baptized in fire;That rifles and the mitrailleurHad thrown his bosom in a stir.
"Accursed cur!" the bull replied,"Delighting in the sanguine tide:If you are Revolution trained,Doubtless your paws with blood are stained—Demons that take delight in slaughter,And pour out human blood as water—Take then thy fate." With goring woundThe monarch tossed him from the groundIn air gyrating—on the stonesHe fell a mass of broken bones.
Thetraveller whose undaunted soulSails o'er the seas from pole to poleSees many wonders, which becomeSo wonderful they strike one dumb,When we in their description viewMonsters which Adam never knew.Yet, on the other hand, the scepticSupplies his moral antiseptic;Denying unto truths belief,With groans which give his ears relief:But truth is stranger far than fiction,And outlives sceptic contradiction.Read Pliny or old Aldrovandus,If—they would say—you understand us.Let other monsters stand avaunt,And read we of the elephant.As one of these, in days of yore,Rummaged a stall of antique loreOf parchment rolls—not modern binding—He found a roll; the which unwinding,He saw all birds and beasts portrayedWhich Nature's bounteous hand had made,With forms and sentiments, to wit—All by the hand of man down writ.The elephant, with great attention,Remarked upon that great invention:"Man is endowed with reason; beastsAllowed their instinct—that at least:But here's an author owning neither—No reason and no instinct either:He thinks he has all natures known,And yet he does not know his own.Now here's the spaniel—who is drawnThe master spirit sprung to fawn.Pooh, pooh! a courtier in his callingMust fawn more deeply for enthralling.Now there's the fox—his attributeTo plunder—as we say, 'to loot.'Pooh, pooh! a lawyer at that viceWould outfox Reynard in a trice.Then come the wolf and tiger's brood;He bans them for their gust of blood.Pooh, pooh! he bloodier is than they;They slay for hunger—he for pay."A publisher, who heard him speak,And saw him read Parsee and Greek,Thought he had found a prize: "Dear sir,If you against mankind will stir,And write upon the wrongs of Siam,No man is better pay than I am;Or, since 'tis plain that you know true Greek,To make an onslaught on the rubrick."Twisting his trunk up like a wipsy,"Friend," said the elephant, "you're tipsy:Put up your purse again—be wise;Leave man mankind to criticise.Be sure you ne'er will lack a penAmidst the bustling sons of men;For, like to game cocks and such cattle,Authors run unprovoked to battle,And never cease to fight and fray themWhilst there's a publisher to pay them.
Thetraveller whose undaunted soulSails o'er the seas from pole to poleSees many wonders, which becomeSo wonderful they strike one dumb,When we in their description viewMonsters which Adam never knew.Yet, on the other hand, the scepticSupplies his moral antiseptic;Denying unto truths belief,With groans which give his ears relief:But truth is stranger far than fiction,And outlives sceptic contradiction.Read Pliny or old Aldrovandus,If—they would say—you understand us.Let other monsters stand avaunt,And read we of the elephant.
As one of these, in days of yore,Rummaged a stall of antique loreOf parchment rolls—not modern binding—He found a roll; the which unwinding,He saw all birds and beasts portrayedWhich Nature's bounteous hand had made,With forms and sentiments, to wit—All by the hand of man down writ.The elephant, with great attention,Remarked upon that great invention:
"Man is endowed with reason; beastsAllowed their instinct—that at least:But here's an author owning neither—No reason and no instinct either:He thinks he has all natures known,And yet he does not know his own.Now here's the spaniel—who is drawnThe master spirit sprung to fawn.Pooh, pooh! a courtier in his callingMust fawn more deeply for enthralling.Now there's the fox—his attributeTo plunder—as we say, 'to loot.'Pooh, pooh! a lawyer at that viceWould outfox Reynard in a trice.Then come the wolf and tiger's brood;He bans them for their gust of blood.Pooh, pooh! he bloodier is than they;They slay for hunger—he for pay."
A publisher, who heard him speak,And saw him read Parsee and Greek,Thought he had found a prize: "Dear sir,If you against mankind will stir,And write upon the wrongs of Siam,No man is better pay than I am;Or, since 'tis plain that you know true Greek,To make an onslaught on the rubrick."
Twisting his trunk up like a wipsy,"Friend," said the elephant, "you're tipsy:Put up your purse again—be wise;Leave man mankind to criticise.Be sure you ne'er will lack a penAmidst the bustling sons of men;For, like to game cocks and such cattle,Authors run unprovoked to battle,And never cease to fight and fray themWhilst there's a publisher to pay them.
Asspecks appear on fields of snow,So blemishes on beauty show.A peacock fed in a farm-yardWhere all the poultry eyed him hard—They looked on him with evil eye,And mocked his sumptuous pageantry:Proud of the glories he inherited,He sought the praises they well merited.Then, to surprise their dazzled sight,He spread his glories to the light.His glories spread, no sooner seenThan rose their malice and their spleen."Behold his insolence and pride—His haughtiness!" the turkey cried."He trusts in feathers; but withinThey serve to hide his negro skin.""What hideous legs!" exclaimed the goose;"The tail to hide them were of use.And hearken to his voice: it howlsEnough to frighten midnight owls.""Yes, they are blemishes, I own,"Replied the peacock; "harsh the toneIs of my voice—no symmetryIn my poor legs; yet had your eyeBeen pleased to mark my radiant train,You might have spared detraction's vein.For if these shanks which you traduceBelonged to turkey or to goose,Or had the voice still harsher been,They had not been remarked or seen;But Envy, unto beauties blind,Seeks blemishes to soothe her mind."So have we, in the midnight scene,Seen purity with face sereneAwake the clamour of detractionFrom jaundiced Envy's yellow faction.
Asspecks appear on fields of snow,So blemishes on beauty show.
A peacock fed in a farm-yardWhere all the poultry eyed him hard—They looked on him with evil eye,And mocked his sumptuous pageantry:Proud of the glories he inherited,He sought the praises they well merited.Then, to surprise their dazzled sight,He spread his glories to the light.His glories spread, no sooner seenThan rose their malice and their spleen.
"Behold his insolence and pride—His haughtiness!" the turkey cried."He trusts in feathers; but withinThey serve to hide his negro skin."
"What hideous legs!" exclaimed the goose;"The tail to hide them were of use.And hearken to his voice: it howlsEnough to frighten midnight owls."
"Yes, they are blemishes, I own,"Replied the peacock; "harsh the toneIs of my voice—no symmetryIn my poor legs; yet had your eyeBeen pleased to mark my radiant train,You might have spared detraction's vein.For if these shanks which you traduceBelonged to turkey or to goose,Or had the voice still harsher been,They had not been remarked or seen;But Envy, unto beauties blind,Seeks blemishes to soothe her mind."
So have we, in the midnight scene,Seen purity with face sereneAwake the clamour of detractionFrom jaundiced Envy's yellow faction.
As Cupid, with his band of sprites,In Paphian grove set things to rights,And trimmed his bow and tipped his arrows,And taught, to play with Lesbia, sparrows,Thus Hymen said: "Your blindness makes,O Cupid, wonderful mistakes!You send me such ill-coupled folks:It grieves me, now, to give them yokes.An old chap, with his troubles laden,You bind to a light-hearted maiden;Or join incongruous minds together,To squabble for a pin or featherUntil they sue for a divorce;To which the wife assents—of course.""It is your fault, and none of mine,"Cupid replied. "I hearts combine:You trade in settlements and deeds,And care not for the heart that bleeds.You couple them for gold and fee;Complain of Plutus—not of me."Then Plutus added: "What can I do?—The settlement is what they spy to.Say, does Belinda blame her fate?—She only asked a great estate.Doris was rich enough, but humble:She got a title—does she grumble?All men want money—not a shoe-tieCare they for excellence or beauty.Oh all, my boys, is right enough:They got the money—hearts is stuff."
As Cupid, with his band of sprites,In Paphian grove set things to rights,And trimmed his bow and tipped his arrows,And taught, to play with Lesbia, sparrows,Thus Hymen said: "Your blindness makes,O Cupid, wonderful mistakes!You send me such ill-coupled folks:It grieves me, now, to give them yokes.An old chap, with his troubles laden,You bind to a light-hearted maiden;Or join incongruous minds together,To squabble for a pin or featherUntil they sue for a divorce;To which the wife assents—of course."
"It is your fault, and none of mine,"Cupid replied. "I hearts combine:You trade in settlements and deeds,And care not for the heart that bleeds.You couple them for gold and fee;Complain of Plutus—not of me."
Then Plutus added: "What can I do?—The settlement is what they spy to.Say, does Belinda blame her fate?—She only asked a great estate.Doris was rich enough, but humble:She got a title—does she grumble?All men want money—not a shoe-tieCare they for excellence or beauty.Oh all, my boys, is right enough:They got the money—hearts is stuff."
A youngstag in the brake was caught,And home with corded antlers brought.The lord was pleased: so was the clown.When he was tipped with half-a-crown.The stag was dragged before his wife;The gentle lady begged its life:"How sleek its skin! how specked like ermine!Sure never creature was more charming."At first within the court confined,He fled and hid from all mankind;Then, bolder grown, with mute amazeHe at safe distance stood to gaze;Then munched the linen on the lines,And off a hood or whimple dines;Then steals my little master's bread,Then followed servants to be fed,Then poked his nose in fists for meat,And though repulsed would not retreat;Thrusts at them with his levelled horns,And man, that was his terror, scorns.How like unto the country maid,Who of a red-coat, first, afraidWill hide behind the door, to traceThe magic of the martial lace;But soon before the door will stand,Return the jest and strike the hand;Then hangs with pride upon his arm,—For gallant soldiers bear a charm,—Then seeks to spread her conquering fame,For custom conquers fear and shame.
A youngstag in the brake was caught,And home with corded antlers brought.The lord was pleased: so was the clown.When he was tipped with half-a-crown.The stag was dragged before his wife;The gentle lady begged its life:"How sleek its skin! how specked like ermine!Sure never creature was more charming."
At first within the court confined,He fled and hid from all mankind;Then, bolder grown, with mute amazeHe at safe distance stood to gaze;Then munched the linen on the lines,And off a hood or whimple dines;Then steals my little master's bread,Then followed servants to be fed,Then poked his nose in fists for meat,And though repulsed would not retreat;Thrusts at them with his levelled horns,And man, that was his terror, scorns.
How like unto the country maid,Who of a red-coat, first, afraidWill hide behind the door, to traceThe magic of the martial lace;But soon before the door will stand,Return the jest and strike the hand;Then hangs with pride upon his arm,—For gallant soldiers bear a charm,—Then seeks to spread her conquering fame,For custom conquers fear and shame.
A monkey, to reform the times,Resolved to visit foreign climes;For therefore toilsomely we roamTo bring politer manners home.Misfortunes serve to make us wise:Poor pug was caught, and made a prize;Sold was he, and by happy doomBought to cheer up a lady's gloom.Proud as a lover of his chainsHis way he wins, his post maintains—He twirled her knots and cracked her fan,Like any other gentleman.When jests grew dull he showed his wit,And many a lounger hit with it.When he had fully stored his mind—As Orpheus once for human kind,—So he away would homewards steal,To civilize the monkey weal.The hirsute sylvans round him pressed,Astonished to behold him dressed.They praise his sleeve and coat, and hailHis dapper periwig and tail;His powdered back, like snow, admired,And all his shoulder-knot desired."Now mark and learn: from foreign skiesI come, to make a people wise.Weigh your own worth, assert your place,—The next in rank to human race.In cities long I passed my days,Conversed with man and learnt his ways;Their dress and courtly manners see—Reform your state and be like me."Ye who to thrive in flattery deal,Must learn your passions to conceal;And likewise to regard your friendsAs creatures sent to serve your ends.Be prompt to lie: there is no witIn telling truth, to lose by it.And knock down worth, bespatter merit:Don't stint—all will your scandal credit.Be bumptious, bully, swear, and fight—And all will own the man polite."He grinned and bowed. With muttering jawsHis pugnosed brothers grinned applause,And, fond to copy human ways,Practise new mischiefs all their days.Thus the dull lad too big to rule,With travel finishes his school;Soars to the heights of foreign vices,And copies—reckless what their price is.
A monkey, to reform the times,Resolved to visit foreign climes;For therefore toilsomely we roamTo bring politer manners home.Misfortunes serve to make us wise:Poor pug was caught, and made a prize;Sold was he, and by happy doomBought to cheer up a lady's gloom.Proud as a lover of his chainsHis way he wins, his post maintains—He twirled her knots and cracked her fan,Like any other gentleman.When jests grew dull he showed his wit,And many a lounger hit with it.When he had fully stored his mind—As Orpheus once for human kind,—So he away would homewards steal,To civilize the monkey weal.
The hirsute sylvans round him pressed,Astonished to behold him dressed.They praise his sleeve and coat, and hailHis dapper periwig and tail;His powdered back, like snow, admired,And all his shoulder-knot desired.
"Now mark and learn: from foreign skiesI come, to make a people wise.Weigh your own worth, assert your place,—The next in rank to human race.In cities long I passed my days,Conversed with man and learnt his ways;Their dress and courtly manners see—Reform your state and be like me.
"Ye who to thrive in flattery deal,Must learn your passions to conceal;And likewise to regard your friendsAs creatures sent to serve your ends.Be prompt to lie: there is no witIn telling truth, to lose by it.And knock down worth, bespatter merit:Don't stint—all will your scandal credit.Be bumptious, bully, swear, and fight—And all will own the man polite."
He grinned and bowed. With muttering jawsHis pugnosed brothers grinned applause,And, fond to copy human ways,Practise new mischiefs all their days.
Thus the dull lad too big to rule,With travel finishes his school;Soars to the heights of foreign vices,And copies—reckless what their price is.
A sageawakened by the dawn,By music of the groves was drawnFrom tree to tree: responsive notesArose from many warbling throats.As he advanced, the warblers ceased;Silent the bird and scared the beast—The nightingale then ceased her lay,And the scared leveret ran away.The sage then pondered, and his eyeRoamed round to learn the reason why.He marked a pheasant, as she stoodUpon a bank, above her brood;With pride maternal beat her breastAs she harangued and led from nest:"Play on, my infant brood—this glenIs free from bad marauding men.O trust the hawk, and trust the kite,Sooner than man—detested wight!Ingratitude sticks to his mind,—A vice inherent to the kind.The sheep, that clothes him with her wool,Dies at the shambles—butcher's school;The honey-bees with waxen combsAre slain by hives and hecatombs;And the sagacious goose, who givesThe plume whereby he writes and lives,And as a guerdon for its useHe cuts the quill and eats the goose.Avoid the monster: where he roamsHe desolates our raided homes;And where such acts and deeds are boasted,I hear we pheasants all are roasted."
A sageawakened by the dawn,By music of the groves was drawnFrom tree to tree: responsive notesArose from many warbling throats.As he advanced, the warblers ceased;Silent the bird and scared the beast—The nightingale then ceased her lay,And the scared leveret ran away.The sage then pondered, and his eyeRoamed round to learn the reason why.
He marked a pheasant, as she stoodUpon a bank, above her brood;With pride maternal beat her breastAs she harangued and led from nest:
"Play on, my infant brood—this glenIs free from bad marauding men.O trust the hawk, and trust the kite,Sooner than man—detested wight!Ingratitude sticks to his mind,—A vice inherent to the kind.The sheep, that clothes him with her wool,Dies at the shambles—butcher's school;The honey-bees with waxen combsAre slain by hives and hecatombs;And the sagacious goose, who givesThe plume whereby he writes and lives,And as a guerdon for its useHe cuts the quill and eats the goose.Avoid the monster: where he roamsHe desolates our raided homes;And where such acts and deeds are boasted,I hear we pheasants all are roasted."
A pinwhich long had done its duty,Attendant on a reigning beauty,—Had held her muffler, fixed her hair,And made its mistressdebonnaire,—Now near her heart in honour placed,Now banished to the rear disgraced;From whence, as partners of her shame,She saw the lovers served the same.From whence, thro' various turns of life,She saw its comforts and its strife:With tailors warm, with beggars cold,Or clutched within a miser's hold.His maxim racked her wearied ear:"A pin a day's a groat a year."Restored to freedom by the proctor,She paid some visits with a doctor;She pinned a bandage that was crossed,And thence, at Gresham Hall, was lost.Charmed with its wonders, she admires,And now of this, now that inquires—'Twas plain, in noticing her mind,She was of virtuoso kind."What's this thing in this box, dear sir?""A needle," said the interpreter."A needle shut up in a box?Good gracious me, why sure it locks!And why is it beside that flint?I could give her now a good hint:If she were handed to a sempstress,She would hem more and she would clem less.""Pin!" said the needle, "cease to blunder:Stupid alike your hints and wonder.This is a loadstone, and its virtue—Though insufficient to convert you—Makes me a magnet; and afarTrue am I to my polar star.The pilot leaves the doubtful skies,And trusts to me with watchful eyes;By me the distant world is known,And both the Indies made our own.I am the friend and guide of sailors,And you of sempstresses and tailors."
A pinwhich long had done its duty,Attendant on a reigning beauty,—Had held her muffler, fixed her hair,And made its mistressdebonnaire,—Now near her heart in honour placed,Now banished to the rear disgraced;From whence, as partners of her shame,She saw the lovers served the same.From whence, thro' various turns of life,She saw its comforts and its strife:With tailors warm, with beggars cold,Or clutched within a miser's hold.His maxim racked her wearied ear:"A pin a day's a groat a year."Restored to freedom by the proctor,She paid some visits with a doctor;She pinned a bandage that was crossed,And thence, at Gresham Hall, was lost.Charmed with its wonders, she admires,And now of this, now that inquires—'Twas plain, in noticing her mind,She was of virtuoso kind.
"What's this thing in this box, dear sir?"
"A needle," said the interpreter.
"A needle shut up in a box?Good gracious me, why sure it locks!And why is it beside that flint?I could give her now a good hint:If she were handed to a sempstress,She would hem more and she would clem less."
"Pin!" said the needle, "cease to blunder:Stupid alike your hints and wonder.This is a loadstone, and its virtue—Though insufficient to convert you—Makes me a magnet; and afarTrue am I to my polar star.The pilot leaves the doubtful skies,And trusts to me with watchful eyes;By me the distant world is known,And both the Indies made our own.I am the friend and guide of sailors,And you of sempstresses and tailors."